How Not to Win the Hunger Games
by Drag0nst0rm
Summary: There aren't many official rules to the Hunger Games, but if you want to win, there are a few to keep in mind. Naturally, this year's crop of tributes is breaking every last one of them. (Multifandom crossover; explanation for category placement inside.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A few things to note: One, this story is completed. I will try to post one chapter a day.**

 **Two, this story is a thirteen way crossover, or, more accurately, a twelve way crossover that's also a Hunger Games fusion. This website doesn't have a good way to mark that, so I'll be changing the category with each chapter I post until I've gone through all of them. After that, I'll choose the category based on which fandom dominates the chapter. I don't know where I'll stick it at the end - if anyone has any suggestions when we get there, please let me know.**

 **Full fandom list is: Narnia, Anne of Green Gables, Squire's Tales, Indiana Jones, Gail Carson Levine, Rowan Hood, Rise of the Guardians, NCIS, Sisters Grimm, Despicable Me, Heir Chronicles, and Jane Austen. If you are unfamiliar with any of those and have questions, feel free to ask!**

* * *

 _1\. Do not take out tesserae._

 **District Twelve**

Lucy was too young to have her name in many times, but despite everyone's objections, she had gotten tesserae. For Peter, who was too old for the Games, for Susan, who was so very nearly safe, and for Edmund, who had been perfectly dreadful for a month after Father died and who was determined to make up for it ever since.

It didn't matter very much, she convinced herself. The odds were still in her favor, and it was not as if the others didn't do it.

Besides, how could she let the others take on all the risk? How could they do without the food, when Peter worked so hard and ate so little, and with Susan still not quite recovered from that fever last winter? How could she let Edmund shiver in the cold fall breeze when if she signed up for tesserae, they could save enough on food to get another coat? Edmund had insisted she get one last winter; it was only fair.

It didn't matter very much at all, she told herself firmly, and besides, she must be brave. She told Peter that very solemnly when he tried to argue, and she was deliberately cheerful as she signed up for the grain. She even got Caspian, there for his own grain, and Edmund to laugh, several times. Susan never did, but she did smile shyly at Caspian.

It was a good thing, a very good thing, right up until Reaping Day, when "Lucy Pevinsie" got called.

She walked on unsteady legs until Susan, breathless, her words scarcely audible, volunteered.

Susan was as white as a sheet and barely breathing, but she walked with dignity to the stage, looking as beautiful and valiant as an old warrior queen from the stories.

Lucy gasped in horror when Caspian was called up next. Susan didn't smile shyly now. She just looked straight ahead, hard as marble, not at all the gentle Susan who soothed them all to sleep.

Lucy had been brave and taken all the risk she could, but she'd have taken it back in an instant if she'd known Susan would insist on paying the cost.

 _(Of course, it was all well and good to say not to take out tesserae. The problem was, they'd have starved without it, and then what good would it do to say that at least they had not died in the Games?)_

* * *

 _2\. If a member of a victor's family dies and they begin acting differently, let them. They know what they're doing._

 **District Eleven**

When Marilla and Mathew Cuthbert adopted Anne, and she started being able to go to school instead of working in the fields, she and Gilbert had both been in the third grade, and he had called her "Carrots."

(He had meant it as a compliment because he was a hungry boy whose family could only barely afford to send him to school, and food of any description was treasure beyond price to him. He hadn't realized she despised the color of her hair.)

When they were in fourth grade, he had given up trying to explain himself and started just tugging on her long braids instead.

When they were in fifth grade, she finally snapped and broke her slate over her head. She would have been expelled for it, but she was a victor's (adopted) daughter, and Mathew was more than able to pay for it.

(Gilbert realized he might have taken the braid thing a bit too far and tried to apologize. In hindsight, he probably should have waited a bit; the teacher had made her stand in front of the class and recite about how all class materials were precious gifts from a Capital that was benevolent but whose patience was not limitless with those who rebelled against its bounty. Her eyes had still been brilliant with unshed tears over the humiliation, and she had walked straight past him, face pale but head high.)

When they were in sixth grade, Gilbert was pulled out of school, but he kept an eye out for Anne. She wandered the district with Diana Barry, the mayor's daughter, coming up with fairy stories for everything and seeing beauty in the most ordinary things. People liked to listen to her talk, and they liked that she was generous with her pocket money.

(When he was sick and his parents couldn't afford medicine, a bottle of it appeared on his bedside table with a note that said "From a Beneficent Faerie who loathes Gilbert Blythe and does not want him to die before she can take proper vengeance on him for mocking her." Gilbert had laughed himself hoarse which had unfortunately devolved into a coughing fit.)

When she was sixteen, almost seventeen, she was reaped.

(After the little girl she'd allied with was killed, she fought her way through her Games like she was an avenging faerie from one of her stories. Her red hair had seemed like crimson fire, but Gilbert had paid more attention to the blood smeared over her teeth.)

When she was seventeen, just a day past her birthday, she finished her last interview in the Capital and came home. She was just as fiery before and just as obsessed with stories, but she liked a different kind now. She still saw the beauty, but she also saw the blood, and her quick temper had turned to gunpowder, and her rages were as likely to end with blows as they were with sobs.

(They danced around her, not knowing how to help, and Gilbert wasn't even sure he had a right to. She was his light, but he was nothing to her, not now, so he just let her rage at him when she needed to, and when she raged at the Capital instead, he nodded along, a slower anger building in his heart.)

When she was two months past seventeen, Matthew died and Marilla grew ill. Anne sat by Marilla's side for a month until she finally began to recover. When they both emerged back into the world, Marilla's face was blank, and Anne was as cool as an autumn wind blowing through the fields. She was polite and ladylike and spoke of faeries as sweet instead of bringers of blood. She gave according to a precise budget and treated everyone, former mortal enemy and bosom friend alike, with the same chill civility.

(Gilbert pulled her aside and told her she could grieve however she wanted, but that if she needed someone to vent at, he was always there. She smiled like it was a mask she was putting on for a play and told him she was very sorry she'd made him put up with her all these years, and now she'd finally grown up and realized how childish she'd been.

It hadn't been what he'd wanted, not at all, but at least she didn't seem to hate him anymore, so he dared to stop by the house to offer Marilla some wild roses he'd picked as a recovery present.

Anne had thrown them out with a shriek of rage befitting a harpy before turning back to ice the moment they'd crashed through the window, vase and all.

Something, Gilbert told Diana, was very, very wrong.)

Diana and Gilbert had ganged together to visit Anne every opportunity they had, but she'd always indicated she didn't want them there.

Right up until The Night. Gilbert always capitalized it in his mind because that's what Anne would have done if she'd been writing it as a story.

Diana knew more about The Night then he did, but he knew enough to make his blood boil.

Anne was better now, though. Some better.

Although as Gilbert heard both his and Diana's names called, he knew better than to hope that would last.

 _(No victor ever knows what they're doing. If someone dies, be there for them and don't let go, no matter what happens. Just be careful when you do.)_

* * *

 _3\. If you're over eighteen, don't make friends with people still eligible to be reaped._

 **District 10**

Morgause and Morgan lounged on the victors' chairs like they were opposing thrones. As mayor, Arthur should technically be sitting to one side of them, but he'd wisely planted himself between them. No one wanted a repeat of last year's incident.

Guinevere was lovely as ever, Gawain supposed, but he couldn't bear to look at her. Not when she was about to draw the names.

Gawain was twenty-one and safe. So was Agrivaine, even if it was only barely.

Gareth and Gaheris, though . . .

 _They won't be picked,_ he tried to convince himself. After all, the only reason victors' children were usually picked was to punish their parents for something, and Morgause had long since proven that she cared nothing for her children.

When they were younger, Gawain had told his brothers that she was trying to protect them by acting so cold. Agrivaine and Gareth might even still believe it. Gaheris, though . . . Well, there was a reason Gawain hadn't called her 'mother' for years, and it had a great deal to do with her treatment of Gaheris.

Terence caught his eye and smiled reassuringly from his place in the boys' pen. _It'll be alright,_ he'd told him earlier, and somehow, from Terence, it was more than a platitude. He had the same look to him that Merlin'd had before he disappeared.

"Ladies first," Guinevere said. Her quiet voice seemed almost gentle as it echoed in the square.

She didn't belong here in her silk dresses done up in the latest fashions that wouldn't last a minute on the dung caked roads. She was too silly for Ten and too soft for the Games.

"Connoire Noble."

Gawain closed his eyes. Poor Kay.

Arthur's face was solemn as he stood to welcome her to the stage.

Guinevere rocked on her feet a little, chewing her lip, like she understood that the air had gotten just a little tenser at the pronouncement, but she moved on quickly.

"Gaheris Orkney!" Her voice was determinedly bright.

 _No._

Not Gaheris, who could never learn to fight no matter how hard Gawain had tried to teach him. Not Gaheris, who he guiltily admitted was his favorite brother, seeing as he was the only one of them who had any sense. Not Gaheris. Not when Gawain was too old to do anything about it but grit his teeth and set his jaw.

If he could only volunteer - But he couldn't. Neither could Agrivaine, not that he would have. That just left Gareth, who could actually win a fight when he put his mind to it. Not a lick of sense otherwise, but he was good in a fight.

Gareth didn't move.

Terence did.

"I volunteer."

The words were so calm, so matter of fact, anyone would have thought he'd been expecting this. Knowing Trevisant, his foster father, perhaps he had.

It took a moment for Gaheris's stoic expression to crack into incredulity. "You're _thirteen,_ " he protested.

Then the words fully sank in and Gawain couldn't breathe.

 _Not Terence, either!_ He wanted to yell. Terence was quiet and quick and (illegally) good with a bow, but he was _thirteen_ and far too small. He was too good for blood soaked Games. He was - _Terence._

And Terence, over Gaheris's objections, had reached the stage.

Arthur looked as grave as a statue of an ancient king. Terence looked absurdly calm. He actually had the nerve to look at Gawain with the same smile as before as if to say, _See? I told you it would be alright._

Gawain stared back at him helplessly. _This is not alright, Terence. This is about as far from alright as you can get._

 _(Then again, if you don't make those friendships, you might lose a brother. Of course, this way, you lose one anyway.)_

* * *

 _9\. This is not a time for jokes._

 **District Nine**

 _Well,_ Indy thought as he climbed up on stage after Marion Ravenwood, _at least I've got my dad's attention._

 _(Black humor always helps.)_

* * *

 _5\. If you have a touch of faerie blood, don't add a faerie gift on top of it._

 **District Eight**

The faerie Lucinda meant well, probably. That was what everyone said, at least.

Everyone except Mandy. "Might as well be Unseelie, the way she goes around. Giving a child obedience as a gift! In this country!"

The way Mandy said it was odd as if there were some other country where Lucinda's cursed gift wouldn't be quite so bad, but Mandy said many odd things.

The way Mother always told the story was this:

Sir Peter (meaning her husband; she always called him thus to mock him) had been dragged to the town square to be whipped. He had cheated the Head Peacekeeper, and so he missed the birth of his first and only daughter.

Lucinda had come and looked at the poor squalling babe refusing to quieten and said, "You'll need to be quieter than that if you want to survive in this world, Ella." And then she gave her awful gift.

That was the story. Mother always tried to tell it lightly. Mandy always told it with cursing.

It never mattered much until seventeen years later when sharp faced men walked through the district and noticed that there was a boy who liked to float a little above the ground and that there was a girl who was clumsy with the textile machines and who had the light of a faerie gift in her eyes.

Rhys Nunson and Ella Frell were called to the stage by an escort draped in ridiculously gaudy fabrics and who kept looking away from the cameras as if afraid of what they would see. Myrtle King and Igori Prince stood behind her.

"Magic," Myrtle breathed into his ever so slightly too large ear.

Igori winced. "Skulni?"

"Worse."

 _(Of course, faeries rarely ask if you want their gifts and often won't remove them no matter how you plead.)_

* * *

 _6\. Do not get caught stealing from the Peacekeepers' office while dressed as an out-district raider._

 **District Seven**

The cameras had been placed carefully this year. They'd had to be, to conceal the guns that were trained on the potential tributes and the victors.

Tuck kept his hands folded on his belly and smiled placidly into the cameras. Robin's eyes blazed with cold fury as he glared at Head Peacekeeper Nottingham. Not even the annual joy of seeing Miss Marian could keep him in line today.

Not when there was a gun aimed at Will Scarlet's head as they waited for the Reaping to confirm what they all already knew.

Robin didn't regret what they'd done. Not a bit of it. He didn't even regret getting Will involved. As he'd told Snow once, the consequences of doing the right thing didn't absolve you of the imperative to try, and Will had deserved the right to try.

No, the only thing Robin regretted was that every attempt to free him and spirit him away to the forest had failed. That every bargain Robin had tried to strike with the president had been ignored. That he hadn't found a way to put his bow to good use.

They couldn't stop it now, so they did the only thing they could. His men dotted the crowd, even the ones that really couldn't afford to be caught on camera.

The women who'd joined the cause were there too, but Robin was less worried about them. Snow had somehow gotten the idea that Robin was old fashioned about the idea of women fighting, and he'd underestimated their forces because of it,

They couldn't afford to be seen wearing anything approaching a uniform, but they didn't need to. They'd fought together, escaped to the forest together, watched as brothers and sisters died together. They didn't need a uniform to know each other.

Tuck mumbled a prayer as the Reaping began. Marian approached the bowls almost reluctantly.

"Rowan Prior," she called for the girls. Then, "Will Scarlet." She didn't make a habit of drawing it out unnecessarily.

The Peacekeepers readied their guns, but they had nothing to fear from Will. He walked forward with his head held high, just as John had on his way to the gallows. Will didn't cause any overt trouble at all, though the bruises on more than one Peacekeepers' face suggested this was a new state of affairs.

Rowan, however, limped up onto the stage in a white dress smudged with soot, which would have been fine - had the soot not been used to spell out names.

 _John. Allan. Celestine. Richard._

And marching down the front in a dripping dried blood line, _Snow._

Any other year, she would have been caught in an instant, but she'd come covered up in a green coat, and the Peacekeepers were too busy waiting for arrows from the crowd to stop her until it was far too late.

Someone gave a shout, and the cameras cut out quickly. Peacekeepers hurried to the stage to force both of them away. Neither would have visiting rights.

Marian turned to Robin, face pale even beneath her makeup. "Robin - "

He got up and stretched as if he hadn't a care in the world. "No family," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. "No friends." Just Celestine Wood's strange daughter, the apothecary since her mother had died. She'd been allied with Robin's folk, but not one of them, because it wasn't quite true that she had no family. Her mother's people still lived in the woods, and they weren't quite mortal.

Marian nodded, face still tight.

"They'll kill her," she whispered.

Tuck patted her arm kindly. "She never had much of a chance anyway, with those legs of her," he said comfortingly. "And I wouldn't be surprised if she put the eye on you to make you pick her slip. The curse was due to claim her within the year, and she wanted to go out fighting."

"Curse?" she demanded.

Robin took her arm and led her off stage with his most charming smile. "Just a district superstition, my love."

Marian's look was decidedly unimpressed.

Robin reigned in the urge to tease her too badly. The odds weren't in their favor this year, and he'd need her before the end if they were going to have a prayer of bringing even the mentors home.

 _(The above isn't actually a bad rule. The key problem, of course, is that you always have to try, and inevitably, someday you'll get caught.)_

* * *

 _7\. If you do get picked, don't make a fool of yourself on stage._

 **District Six**

"Jack, I'm scared."

He crouched down in front of her. "Don't be. You're too young to get picked. You just have to stand with our parents for an hour, and then I'll come back."

"What if you get picked?" his sister wailed.

The last of the trains had fallen silent, the one time of year they did so. They were running out of time.

He grinned brightly at her. "Then I'll have to go play the Games. You know how good I am at games." He poked her stomach. His grin widened when she giggled despite herself.

He met his mother's worried eyes for a split second, and then he had to go, weaving through the crowd to slip into the pen at the last minute.

It would be fine. Everything would be fine.

No amount of cleaning had been able to get the stage truly clean. Even the Capital couldn't stop the soot from the trains from getting on everything.

The Capital escort, Mr. Sandy, glittered against the grime. Gold dust sparkled in his hair and gleamed against a suit that might have been woven from sunlight. Even his skin had a distinctive yellow tint.

Behind him, the victors waited grimly. North, who had won his Games with two massive swords, sat with his hulking arms crossed over a chest that reminded him of the Vikings in the lone, tattered storybook his father had managed to rescue from the district library when it had burned a decade ago. Toothiana fidgeted constantly, fingers rubbing over a ridiculous feather dress that must have been straight from the Capital. That didn't reassure him much. It was hard to think of someone famous for collecting her victims' teeth as harmless and restless. Bunnymund . . . Bunnymund bothered him the most. It was his size partially; at six feet tall, he towered over Jack, and he had the muscle to back it up - and, on one occasion, the irritation to prompt him to use it.

That made him wary, but it wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was that no one else seemed to notice that E. Aster Bunnymund was a giant rabbit.

He didn't mean that figuratively, either.

It reminded him of the black sand that whispered through the cracks of the boards in their shack at night. It reminded him of the dark horses he glimpsed racing through the street. It reminded him of the thin, dark man he'd once caught a glimpse of the night Jamie's father went mad and tried to kill his children to save them from the threat of the Reaping.

Jack saw things no one else could see, and that was never a good thing.

Jamie had seen those things too, but Jamie was gone. Probably because he had seen those things too.

Jack tried not to think about that, just like he tried not to think about the hunger gnawing his belly. Instead, he thought about the wind that was teasing the edges of threadbare coat and pretended it was about to lift him into flight.

Mr. Sandy walked forward. At his short height, he was half hidden behind the podium. He had to practically jump for the bowls.

The girls were first. He jumped for a name and examined the slip carefully. Then he pressed the slip of paper to a scanner and the screens on either side of the stage lit up with the Panem national emblem.

Across the middle of each screen, "Ava Linnet" blazed in sparkling gold cursive.

A little girl, who looked much smaller than the twelve years old she must surely be, trembled as she make her shaky way to the stage. She'd gathered feathers from around the district, painted them blue and green, and pasted them onto her dress in a pale imitation of Toothiana's signatures dresses.

 _Baby Tooth,_ he nicknamed her instantly.

Except he'd seen Toothiana's Games replay on TV, and Toothiana hadn't broken down weeping on the stage.

The victors looked pained. Even Mr. Sandy drooped a little.

The sobs echoed in the silence as Mr. Sandy went to the other bowl.

"Jackson Overland."

He stared at the name for a long moment. That wasn't - It couldn't be -

"Jack!" his sister wailed.

He swallowed hard. That was him.

One second more to imagine the wind pulling him out of there, and then he made himself walk forward as carelessly as if this were a stroll in the park, a cocky grin spilling across his face.

He allowed himself one quick glance at his family as he climbed the stairs to the stage. His mother had picked his sister up and was hushing her frantically. His father looked at him with a face as white as death.

Jack kept his grin steady and tried to ignore the way he felt like the thin ice that spread over the pond in winter. Frozen cold and starting to crack.

A question mark lit up on the screens to ask for volunteers. None came forward. Jamie might have, but Jamie was gone. The others either couldn't and or didn't want to. He wouldn't want someone to take his place anyway. He was the oldest, even if it was only by a few months. This was his job, not theirs.

He looked over the square in the long, stretching moment. He wanted to capture one last imagine of this place. Just - Just in case.

Half rotted wood buildings with tin roofs surrounded the square. Everything was stained with soot and coal. The people were as stained as the buildings, and they stared back at him with eyes dulled by black sand that they never saw.

But Jack saw. And he saw the brightness still in his sister, in Sophie, in Pippa and the others.

It was his job to guard that, which meant he would have to come back.

The symbol on the screen switched to one of two people shaking hands. Jack turned to Baby Tooth.

She was still crying, arms wrapped tight around herself, and he didn't think she was really up to shaking hands. That was a grown up gesture, anyway. One for when the black sand had hid every trace of a spark from someone's eyes.

He poked her on the nose instead.

She blinked, so startled that a laugh stole out of her.

He softened his grin, just a bit, and held out his hand. When she held hers out, he grabbed it and spun her around like she was a princess in the stories.

Everyone was staring at him like he'd gone mad, but Baby Tooth was giggling, so he held his head high as he escorted her to the Justice Building.

 _(They tell you not to cry. Not to break. There's no rule against laughing, though, even if it's just because they didn't think they'd need one.)_

* * *

 _8\. Don't draw unwanted attention to yourself._

 **District Five**

Kate figured the Reaping was more of a formality than anything. Everyone had known McGee was going ever since the school trip to the power plant when he'd accidentally-on-purpose created a nationwide power outage.

Kate still wasn't sure why, but he'd done it, and she'd bought enough time and kicked up enough fuss they'd let him go since they didn't have any actual proof.

So she already knew what names would be called, just like how last year they'd all known it would be Ziva David and Ari Haswari, although people had been more divided over whether it was punishment strictly for Eli David, or if part of it was aimed at Tony as well.

Tony's own reaping had been to get at Gibbs.

Tony winked at her from his place on the stage. Kate made a face back. He just grinned wider.

It was the last moment of childishness she could allow herself. Abby Sciuto was making her way to the girl's bowl. Her dramatic makeup gleamed in the light of the cameras.

Kate had already opened the gate and was walking forward a split second before her name was called.

McGee actually waited his turn. He kept sneaking glances at Abby once he was onstage.

Kate resisted the urge to smack him.

Gibbs had no such compunction. He cuffed McGee on the head as he led them toward the visiting rooms. "Mind on the Games," he ordered. _We talked about this,_ his face all but shouted.

McGee looked guilty. Kate rolled her eyes.

Tony draped an arm around her shoulders. "Ready, Kit-Kat?"

She opened her mouth to say something biting, but it was too dry. She just nodded instead.

 _(Not drawing attention to yourself is a good idea. Unfortunately, kids don't always think ahead, and sometimes, doing the right thing means going down with them.)_

* * *

 _9\. If you met Shakespeare, you are over 18 and are not obligated to enter the Reaping. In fact, you're legally banned from doing so. Do not sign up for tesserae. Do not use magic to put your name in the Reaping Bowl. Do not use magic to turn all the slips in the girl's bowl to your ex-fiancee's name despite the fact she also met Shakespeare. Do not -_

 **District Four**

Granny Relda had somehow managed to pick out his face from her place on the stage. Her reproving look was just as stern from a distance. Puck just smiled wickedly back.

If she thought the whoopee cushion in Charming's seat was bad, he could just imagine how she'd reach to what was coming next.

Beside her, Mr. Canis growled. Puck gulped. On second thought, maybe he should have thought this through a bit more.

Too late now. Charming was approaching the Reaping Bowls. He was still scowling.

"Ladies first."

 _Eager to see what girl you're going to woo this year?_

Briar, Rapunzel, Ella . . . And, of course, the first. Snow.

He'd be getting a surprise this year.

For that matter, so would -

"Moth Summers."

The shriek that arose from the girl's pen was not entirely human.

 _Told you I'd keep Daphne out of the Games, Grimm._

Moth was dragged up the stage, still shrieking. She wasn't supposed to even be in the Reaping.

Normally this joke would be too cruel, even for his ex-fiancée.

Moth, however, had threatened the Grimms. One Grimm in particular. And Puck couldn't be having that.

Puck wore ratty hoodies. He played pranks he had been repeatedly informed were juvenile. He looked all of twelve years old.

But Puck had lived through wars. He had survived his parents' court. He had fought in the Dark Days alongside the rest of the fae until his monarchs ( _Mother, Father, did you even think of me -_ ) were caught and bound by their Names into a prison made of iron.

He had lived through being left ragged and bleeding by the edge of the sea, and it had not been Moth that had found him there and saved him. It had been a girl named Relda Grimm, and she had never once given up on him. Never once kicked him out of her house, whether it was hut or mansion.

He wasn't bound to her by Name, but he owed her for the food, the home, and the protection.

(He owed her for more than that.)

Especially considering what that protection had cost her.

So after - Well, after. He'd agreed to protect her granddaughters since it was too late to protect her son.

In hindsight, that had been a bad idea because five weeks into the assignment he owed Sabrina an even bigger debt than he owed Relda.

See, he'd been caught in a faerie trap, and the person who'd caught him there had found out his Name.

And she'd gone and gotten him out of the trap and never once used the fact that in doing so, she'd found out his Name.

He owed her. Which was why his name, lowercase n, was the second pulled out.

He strolled forward with his hands in his pockets and grinned at her brightly from the stage.

Daphne's eyes were wide and tearing up. Sabrina looked furious.

Maybe he hadn't thought this through very well.

But if he was going to fulfill any of his debts, then he needed the power winning the Games would give him.

"Shake hands," Charming ordered. Up close, his eyes looked bloodshot.

Puck grinned at Moth and offered her his hand.

She glared at him with enough force he was surprised it didn't rip through her glamour before she turned and stalked away.

Puck shrugged at the cameras as if to say, "What can you do?" and walked after her.

 _(You're not supposed to do any of those things, but if you're a faerie and owe debts, you might not have a choice.)_

* * *

 _10\. Be absolutely certain which name they call._

 **District Three**

Margot straightened her skirt and tried not to look over at the boys' pen. Now wasn't the time for that.

Instead, she turned to Edith and forced her faded pink hat into a better position and tried not to think about poor Agnes standing with the matron and the other kids too young for the Reaping. This would be the first year she didn't have Edith with her.

Edith scowled at her. "It's fine."

"You need to look presentable," she reminded her. "There."

" _They_ don't look presentable," Edith grumbled, waving an indignant hand at the victors on the stage.

Unfortunately, Edith was right. From what little Edith could see, Gru was dressed in the same skintight black he always wore, complete with the grey scarf he always wore wrapped around his thick neck no matter the weather. With his bald head hunched down and his fingers steepled together, he looked like he was plotting world domination.

From the rumors she'd heard, he probably was.

Dr. Nefario was still in his chemical stained lab coat, and his goggles obscured his eyes. She was pretty sure his pocket was wriggling.

Mrs. Scarlett had at least made an effort at being presentable, and Edith felt a quick pang of envy for her elegant red dress and black gloves. Her hair, however, looked like something from the Dark Days.

And Lucy Wilde . . . Well, she'd tried. And it really was quite a nice blue coat. Her clothes were fine, and her hair was quite presentable. It was just, well, Lucy. She was awkward, no matter what she was wearing. Margot supposed you couldn't really expect anything else from someone who had won the final battle of her Games by a clumsy accident.

"Make up your mind," Edith complained. "Last night you said there was no way I would get picked. Today you're acting like you're expecting all of Panem to see me."

"Of course you won't get picked," Margot assured her. Not for the first time, she wished Miss Hattie could find the budget to buy her glasses so that she could look at Edith properly instead of just squinting at her. "But if you look nice today, a family's more likely to adopt you."

"No one gets adopted," Edith said.

"Ten years ago - "

"Ten years ago," Edith agreed, crossing her arms. "Not anymore."

Margot huffed. Thankfully, at that moment, Vector stepped forward to begin his speech.

Five minutes into listening to his nasally voice, she'd let go of her relief.

Finally, he stopped talking and stepped towards the boys' bowl. "Bob Greyling!"

She recognized the name. He was in her grade at school. If she stood on her toes, she could just see him.

Then a small, yellow blob started zipping through the crowd and up onto the stage. "Bob!" it announced proudly.

She could just make out a grey blur around his eyes that was probably glasses of some sort and blue overalls.

Mainly, though, she just noticed that he was short, round, and very, very, yellow.

Vector scooted away from him like it might be contagious. "Bob?" he checked.

Gru was facepalming. Dr. Nefario winced.

Bob Greyling wasn't exactly eager to step forward and correct the mistake, though, so . . . the other Bob . . . got to stay right where he was, preening in the light of the cameras.

Apparently the rumors of why there kept being explosions in Victors' Village had at least some truth to them.

What had _happened_ to that poor kid?

Vector shot the yellow thing another look before going over to the girls' bowl. "Edith Nelson!"

The words took a minute to penetrate.

Edith?

Edith yanked her hat determinedly askew and started walking forward.

 _Edith?_

But she was only twelve. They couldn't possibly have picked Edith. There was some mistake. Or another one of those yellow things would run forward to take her place.

Not Edith. Surely not Edith.

"Volunteers?" Vector drawled, sounding bored.

Edith was on stage. Why was she -

Margot shut her mouth with a snap. Edith had been picked. Edith. That meant -

She took a wobbling step forward and wavered, hesitating. She had to - She couldn't -

"Shake hands," Vector ordered, flapping his hand at them.

 _No!_

"Banana?" the strange little thing asked Edith hopefully.

Too late.

 _(Once you've heard the names, you must be quick to accept it.)_

* * *

 _11\. Do not be related to previous victors._

 **District Two**

Seph had his mother's good looks and his father's gift for . . . persuasion.

He didn't, however, have either of their last names, something he tried very hard not to blame them for.

They meant well. His foster mother insisted that they meant well.

It was just hard to remember that when he watched the best of his year mates head off to train as Careers while he remained in school because Gwen - not Mom, she never let him call her that - insisted that it was what his parents wanted.

He wouldn't have minded if it hadn't been for the fact that the Careers got to eat far better than the foster sons of struggling inn owners in a district not known for its tourism. Who wanted to see the masonry district, after all?

He wouldn't have minded working in the inn after school if the chicken he laid out hadn't smelled quite so good. He wouldn't have minded setting the plates out for guests if one of those guests hadn't been Hastings.

The only sign that his father had even noticed him was a last minute, almost forgotten tip. He would have called it generous if his father hadn't been a victor and well able to afford it.

He wouldn't have minded if his father had just looked at him, at least once.

But he hadn't, so Seph took the scraps the guests hadn't eaten back to the kitchen so he could turn them into a supper for two.

A scrap of food, a bit of money, and the barest shred of attention weren't quite enough from a father, he felt, even if it was more than his mother had given him. His mother showed more interest in his cousin Jack than she did in him. He only ever glimpsed her every year at the Reaping.

They just meant to protect him, his foster mother insisted, and she kept insisting it when strange things started happening around him, and his only defense was to bottle up the fizzing power inside him until he felt he would explode for fear that the Peacekeepers in the far too near base would find out. They meant well, she insisted, right up until the long cold winter where they couldn't afford to heat their own rooms, and they couldn't afford a doctor, only the herbs that she had taught him how to mix.

She hadn't taught him well enough.

When she was buried, the inn was sold, he was sent for a bit of far-too-late Career training, and his parents still showed not the slightest interest, Seph hadn't just started to doubt, he'd pulled doubt in and made it his friend.

Either his parents didn't care, or his foster mother had been lying. Maybe it had started out as a pretty fairy story when he was young and she had just forgotten to let go of it. Maybe she'd told him his parents were victors to get him to sleep one night when he'd been too hungry to do so otherwise or to soothe him after the crows had dived to defend him from a schoolyard bully. Maybe she'd wanted to give him hope that someday things would be better, that it was alright to be different, his parents had been too.

Or maybe someone had left him on her doorstep with a note and had thought she'd be more likely to take him in if he was someone important. He didn't know.

He did know, however, that Jack really shouldn't have ended up in the Games. The rules for volunteering and reaping were complicated in the Career districts, but Seph had studied them with something close to obsession the year after Jason - too mouthy, too defiant Jason - got pulled in. Jack should not have been the one to go. It went against all the rules.

Then he saw Linda's - his mother's? - face get white and pinched, and the seed of another kind of doubt grew in his mind.

Jack came back. Came back a little angrier, a little harder than before. Came back having - well, not having broken the rules of the Games. There weren't any rules. But if you got to the final two, you really weren't supposed to spend the last two hours of the Games trying to stop a kid from a completely different district from bleeding out.

The next year, Jack's girlfriend, Ellen, was sent to the Capital and judging by the looks on everyone's faces . . .

Yeah, Seph had some doubts about the Reaping process.

He was almost eighteen by the time the next Reaping rolled around. He went, of course, but he wasn't nervous at all. He might have trained for the last few years, but no one expected him to volunteer. Dr. Leicester's methods hadn't worked on him as well as they did the others, and no one wanted to send the gaunt, nightmare haunted boy who was likely to say something both utterly charming and utterly likely to get him executed on national television.

Alison Mars was reaped for the girls, but Leesha fought her for it with the single minded intensity she'd had ever since Jason hadn't come back. Leesha won, naturally. She was nearly as persuasive as Seph was. He wished her luck.

Right up until he was reaped himself, and somehow, despite the furious volunteering of half his year-mates, it defaulted to him.

Call him a cynic, but Seph was calling foul.

There were ravens gathering at the edges of the square and eyeing the escort, Jessamine Longbranch, with beady eyes. Seph swallowed hard as he mounted the stage and closed his sweating palms into fists. _Please, no._ That scared him more than the Reaping did.

He stared at the aging buildings that reminded him of half-rotted castles and willed the ravens to stay in place. He couldn't let this happen. Not here. Not now.

He almost forgot to shake Leesha's hand. They did it quickly, both flinching a little at the shock that always came when they touched.

Then he was being bundled into a cold room that reminded him of a cell to wait for his visitors.

Visitors. Right. His foster mother was dead and so was Jason. He had friends enough, both from school and the other Careers, but he doubted they would come. He was charming, but not quite charming enough to overcome Reaping Day.

Then Linda Downey hurried in with frantic, furtive movements, and Seph suddenly realized he might not have been fair to his foster mother after all.

She clasped his hands, flinching a bit as she did so. His skin felt even hotter contrasted against her freezing cold hands.

"Seph, I know you must be very confused right now, and I can't explain everything, but - "

"But you care enough to show up when I'm about to die, even if Hastings doesn't?" Seph interrupted bitterly.

Linda's eyes widened. "She told you?"

"For some crazy reason, she thought I had the right to know." He could feel the heat rushing through him, knew he had to get it under control, but it was hard to care at the moment. Too hard.

Linda bit her lip, but her voice held none of her uncertainty. It was warm and soothing. "It's going to be all right, Seph. I didn't want it to come to this, that's why I couldn't let anyone know you were mine, but now that it has, we'll get you through this, and then I'll answer any questions you like. All right?"

Seph yanked his hands out of her grip. "Don't try that on me," he warned her. "I've spent the last three years resisting the power of suggestion, I'm not about to swallow it from you."

Linda flinched. Seph ruthlessly pushed back any regret. If he was going to resist her, he had to be firm. Her subtle promise of a future family was far more tempting than Dr. Leicester's battering ram approach to convincing them that to die was glorious.

"All right," she said quietly. "We don't have to talk about this now. Do you need anything?"

He shrugged. "I - " He bit off the words, then finished them anyway. "I wouldn't mind some company."

"Of course," she said immediately. "I'm sure I can convince them to let me stay the whole time since there aren't any other visitors waiting."

Seph was sure she could too. People rarely refused Linda Downey anything.

Then the rest of what she said hit him. "Hastings isn't coming?"

Linda hunched a little. "He doesn't know."

Didn't know? He'd been up on the stage with all the other victors, hadn't he? How could he not -

Oh. Well. That made it a bit easier to forgive him for not paying attention, at least.

 _(It's easy to say that being the child of a previous victor is bad luck, but there isn't anything you can do to change it, is there? No matter how hard your parents try to.)_

* * *

 _12\. Don't get too close to a victor. Or a victor's daughter._

 **District One**

Bingley was a fool. Darcy had told him so, repeatedly, but Bingley had refused to listen.

If it had been foolishness like Caroline's, it would have been one thing. No doubt the president had gotten a good laugh out of watching Darcy squirm as he beat a hasty retreat from her attentions.

Bingley's foolishness was of another sort entirely, and it was of a far more dangerous kind.

"Come now, Darcy, I'm only being neighborly," Bingley had always cried.

'Neighborly' seemed a bit of a stretch when it was a thirty minute walk between their properties, but Darcy had no objections to a truly neighborly acquaintance; his aunt had been inviting the Bingleys to her Christmas gala for years.

No, to that even President Snow could have no objection. The problem came with Bingley's frequent visits and the invitations that for Georgiana's sake he could not in good conscience refuse.

"If you dislike me that much, Darcy - "

And there he had always cut his friend off. A mistake, he saw now, because it had never been a matter of _liking_ but of safety. The president would not, _could_ not, ignore or tolerate someone who transformed a suitably reclusive and self-destructive victor into someone that could reasonably be called philanthropic and charitably be called amiable, or at least not antisocial.

He ought to have been more careful. He'd thought he'd learned his lesson when his parents were killed and had been sure of it when Fitzwilliam had been reaped. He'd only allowed himself Elizabeth's company when Kitty and Lydia were lost to the Games; that one victor's daughter might be reaped was only expected, two was at least possible at a stretch, but three strained credulity, and she was now safely in her twenties, besides. He'd badly needed her laughing eyes, so he'd allowed himself to answer her quick tongue.

But perhaps that too had been a mistake. His halting attempts at courtship had required much help from Georgiana and Bingley and had thrown the latter into a closer acquaintance with Jane with all too predictable results.

Bingley had, in short, strolled into Victor's Village with an amiable smile and the inevitability of a battering ram, and he had forced the victors out of isolation and into connection with the rest of the district.

Connected victors were dangerous victors, but Darcy had allowed himself to forget. To hope.

Now he stared helplessly as Bingley mounted the stage. Caroline had fainted. Jane and Georgiana were pale with horror; Elizabeth supported them both with strength like steel.

Mr. Bennett sighed beside him. "If my wife were here, there'd be hysterics by now," he murmured.

Mrs. Bennett had not been anywhere since her nervous collapse after Wickham had killed Lydia in the Games a year ago, and Darcy couldn't help but feel a reminder of their previous failures was not what was needed just now.

Aunt de Burgh remained impassive, but Knightley was tense for another reason entirely.

Their escort, Harriet Smith, made her way to the girl's bowl. Despite all her efforts, she was a bit plumper than last year, but, unfortunately, her mind had as little weight as ever. She smiled as she pulled out the name.

Georgiana was still eligible. That was the only thing that pulled his eyes from Bingley's back.

"Emma Woodhouse."

Knightley's hands clenched.

"Volunteers?" Harriet asked cheerfully.

Three girls jumped forward to fight it out. The Peacekeepers tightened around the boys to keep them from doing so.

Darcy paid no attention to the bids and counter-bids. He already knew how this would end.

Sure enough, Emma was the one who ascended the stage with so much dignity he could almost believe she truly considered it an honor.

He wasn't sure if it had been rigged, or if she was just too proud to be spared. It didn't matter.

Knightley was whiter than a pearl from Four.

 _You fool,_ Darcy thought. _You should have waited._

He wasn't sure who he was talking to, but whoever it was, it was far too late.

 _(Being near victors is a dangerous thing. Of course, leaving them to self-destruct isn't any better, and this way, at least, the damage done is in the name of good, not apathy.)_


	2. Chapter 2

_1\. Be polite to the victors. One of them will be your mentor._

The trains would be a wonderland if they weren't taking them to their deaths. Jack's room was huge, and it was filled with more luxuries than the stories he dreamed up for his sister. The drawers were filled with soft warm clothes without a speck of wear on them, and the bed was not only softer than a snow drift, it was bolted to the floor. Nothing would be sneaking out from underneath that.

The dinner car was even better. There was a small fountain flowing with chocolate and speckled with bits of peppermint candy on the center of the table, and it was surrounded by chunks of fresh fruit. Warm rolls glowed golden brown next to a dish of actual butter, and there was roasted meat that didn't look like loosely defined sausage. And apparently that was only the beginning; there were people bringing out more even as he watched, and it was all Jack could do not to run over and start stuffing his face with everything he saw.

The only thing that stopped him was the fact that the rest of the room finally registered. Namely, the fact that the three victors were all looming over a terrified looking Baby Tooth and apparently they'd decided to jump right in to discussing the gorier aspects of the Cornucopia.

Yeah, _no._

Jack made it to the table without being seen, and he bypassed the more interesting treats in favor of an apple that looked like it'd make a nice audible crunch. The sound managed to cut through their babbling. Bunnymund had big ears, after all.

North beamed at him. "Good, you are here! We were just discussing - "

Toothiana darted forward. "The Cornucopia can wait. Look at his teeth! I haven't seen any so much white since - "

Jack took a step back and tried not to wince when he stepped into the table. HIs grin was frozen on his face. "Hands off the teeth, please."

"Business is more important, Tooth," North scolded.

"Right," Bunnymund agreed. "Okay, so we were just saying that you need to be careful when you're making your retreat from the Cornucopia. A lot of tributes forget that the ground's got a few more obstacles than it did when they were running in, and they end up paying the price. The last thing you want is to trip over somebody and end up - "

Baby Tooth looked alarmed and maybe he should stop calling her that, because Toothiana was creepy, but he couldn't remember her actual name, so it was too late for that.

Jack cut Bunnymund off. "Yeah, I've been thinking about a way around that. Why not just leave before it gets to that point? I'm not sure either of us is really cut out for the bloodbath."

"That is defeatist attitude, Jack!" North boomed. "With a bit of training, you will do fine."

"I'll do fine in the Games," Jack agreed, "but I'll be fine by playing them my way, and that means grabbing whatever supplies are in reach, finding Baby Tooth, and getting out." He pauses, finally remembering the girl's name. "Er, Ava. Sorry."

The others are all staring at him.

"Baby Tooth?" Toothiana said.

"You're teaming up?" Bunnymund asked with an edge of incredulity he really didn't appreciate. From now on he could just be Bunny and see how he liked it.

Even thinking about going up against Bunny again made him want to be safely on the other side of the table, but he squared his shoulders instead. "Why wouldn't we? It makes sense. Right?" He threw an anxious look at Baby - Ava, her name was Ava.

She nodded quickly.

The others still looked doubtful but they let it go. North clapped his hands together. "Let us eat!"

Jack ended up having to sit beside Toothiana, but he gritted his teeth and stayed where he was because it meant he could also sit beside Ava, and it was better than sitting beside Bunny.

"So," Bunny said. "Tooth's got Ava, obviously, but we still need to work out who's going to be responsible for you."

Jack bristled at the tone. "North," he said instantly, shooting a quick look at the big guy. "If I get a say, I want North."

North looked pleased. Bunny's ears flattened a little, but he nodded. "Good. One less thing I have to worry about."

"Bunny," North reproved.

"What? Simple fact. I didn't mean anything by it."

North decided to cut his losses and move on. "Are there any gifts we should know about? Any weaknesses?"

Ava shook her head. Jack shrugged. He wasn't about to tell them about his experience fighting, so he just said, "I'm good at making a general nuisance of myself. My right arm still aches on cold days, but I can still use it, so it doesn't really matter."

North frowned. "An old injury?"

"Yeah," Jack said darkly. "You could say that. It was broken in two places, and I knew my parents couldn't afford to get the doctor to come set it, so I got - " _Jamie -_ "one of my friends to do it."

Bunny whistled. "How'd you manage that, kid?"

Jack gaped at him. "You honestly don't remember?"

Bunny frowned. "Remember what?"

"Breaking it!" Jack exploded.

The only sound in the room was the chocolate falling into the fountain.

"What." Bunny's voice was completely flat.

Jack shook his head in disgust. "What, have you broken so many kids' arms you don't even remember doing it anymore?" He'd eaten only half a plate, but suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore. His life was going to depend on these people, and at least two of them were complete sociopaths.

"I'm going back to my room," he mumbled, shoving his seat back from the table. Ava hurried to stand too.

Bunny jumped out of his seat and blocked the door. "You can't just say something like that and walk off! What do you mean, I broke your arm? When?"

Ava tried to slip past him. Bunny grabbed her arm. "No one's going anywhere till I get some answers."

Jack grabbed a knife from the table on instinct and a handful of salt from long habit. "Let her go," he said, deceptively quiet. "Now."

The others had half risen by that point, and Jack didn't know what they would have done, but Ava let out a conveniently timed whimper. Bunny let her go instantly, and her sleeves were short enough to show the splotch of bruises already rising.

It took everything Jack had not to fling himself at Bunny right then, even if Bunny did look horrified. Jack wasn't buying it.

"Maybe," he said in a voice heavy with irony, "you just don't know your own strength."

Ava should have run then, but instead she stomped heavily on Bunny's foot and ran back to join Jack like she was going to help defend him.

It was Jack's job to be the protector, not the other way around, so he shoved her behind him, and said, "We'll survive on our own in there if we have to, but - but you're not going to touch her again. Either of us. And," he added, spinning on Tooth, "you're not coming near either of our teeth, and I don't know what to warn you about North, but the same thing applies. I've been fighting monsters back home for years, I'm not afraid to add an overgrown rabbit and a couple of crazy adults to the list."

 _(Be careful with the mentors. All of them have killed people.)_

* * *

 _2\. Try to keep the startling revelations to a minimum._

Hastings pulled open the door to the little outdoor platform on the end of the train. Linda was hunched against the railing.

He made sure the door was shut before he started talking, and even then the first words out of his mouth were a charm to discourage eavesdropping. He leaned against the railing next to Linda. "This couldn't wait?"

She wouldn't look at him. "There's something you need to know. About Seph."

Hastings frowned. "What, that he's a wizard? I noticed that already. Got quite a handshake, that boy."

"He's my son."

Hastings took a half step back. "Your son." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Alright. Do you want to be the one to mentor him?"

She finally looked up at him. "He's your son too."

And that - that -

His hands felt hot enough to _burn._

"And you never thought," he said dangerously quietly, "that I had a right to know? He's been running around hungry half his life, Linda! I used to see him at the inn!"

"Better hungry then dead as an object lesson," she hissed.

"Yes," Hastings said. "You wouldn't have wanted him to be reaped for the Games."

She crumpled in on herself. "I did the best I could. Maybe it was just chance - "

"They found out." They both knew it, he might as well say it. "They knew before I did." He stared blankly at the scenery blurring past. "We have to bring him home."

She looked up quickly. "You'll help?"

"He's my son," he said, testing the words for the first time. "They've taken everything else from me. They're not taking him."

 _(Of course, if not now, then when?)_

* * *

 _3\. Careful what you eat._

"That is your third glass of juice."

Edith slurped from the cup she was cradling with both hands. She didn't answer.

Gru threw his hands up in the air. "Fine! Do as you wish."

"At least she's doing better than Bob," Dr. Nefario said.

Gru looked at where Bob was collapsed in the corner, stomach extended from a banana binge.

"We are doomed," he said gloomily.

Edith wiped a hand over her purple stained mouth.

"Will you at least drink something red?" Gru pleaded. "It will look like blood."

She brightened. "Cool!"

He eyed her speculatively. "Hm. Only mostly doomed, then."

 _(Eat what you want. It might be your last chance.)_

* * *

 _4\. You are not responsible for your mentor's mental wellbeing._

Anne sat like a fine lady, back straighter than the Capital chair. Her food lay uneaten on the dainty china plate. Her face had gone white except for two bright spots of color on her cheeks.

The train ride had forced Diane to stay in the bathroom, face green. Gilbert had offered to fetch Anne for her or to stay himself, but she had firmly pushed him on.

"Anne . . . " he said helplessly.

"Have you given any thought to your strategy, Mr. Blythe?"

He took a deep breath. "Anne. This isn't you."

"And who are you to tell me who I am?" Anne snapped. "I can be cold and disagreeable if I want to, Gilbert Blythe!"

He breathed a sigh of relief, but he raised an eyebrow too. "If anyone gets to be disagreeable, don't you think it should be me? I'm the one who's going to die, after all."

"You are not going to die," she said viciously. "And I don't claim a monopoly on being disagreeable."

"Fair enough," he said, raising his glass in a toast. "Now. I'll eat if you will."

"You are not at all in practice for being disagreeable," she sniffed, but she was almost smiling.

 _(Keep in mind, though, it costs nothing to be kind.)_

* * *

 _5\. Don't announce your intention of breaking the most important rule in the Games._

Darcy leaned against the window. The glass was cold, but he was in too foul a mood to care.

Bingley joined him. He winced when he felt the glass. "I don't suppose - "

"No," Darcy bit out. He didn't have the patience to put up with Harriet's empty chatter at supper.

Anyone else would have given up and left Darcy to his temper. Bingley just nodded.

Darcy let a few minutes of silence pass before prodding his friend into action. "You're fidgeting, Bingley. You only do that when you're working yourself up to say something."

Bingley conceded the point with an uneasy smile. "I don't - " He took a deep breath. "I don't think I can kill anyone, Darcy."

"You'll do what you have to," Darcy said harshly.

Bingley looked almost apologetic. "Not all of us have your iron will. I can't just will myself to be something I'm not."

The fool had no idea just how dangerous his words could be if they were overheard. Darcy grabbed his arm. "You will try," he said, the steel in his voice ensuring it was not a question.

"Of course, Darcy," he said placatingly.

Darcy wanted to groan.

 _(No, really. Don't.)_

* * *

 _6\. Try not to act too crazy._

Morgan finally found Terence in a storage car perched on top of a stack of crates.

"Have you lost your mind?" she demanded.

"I couldn't let Gaheris go into the Games." He frowned at her. "He's your nephew. You shouldn't be complaining."

Morgan took a deep breath and resisted the urge to strangle him. "You do realize that if you die, your father will hold me personally responsible." The boy's foster father was one thing, but his real father . . . Morgan might not have declared herself Seelie, but she would never dare go up against Ganscotter.

Terence shrugged. "If I die, I go to Avalon, and my father can see me more often. I don't see what he'll have to complain about."

"Death," Morgan said with forced calmness, "is more complicated than that."

He hopped down from the boxes with eerie grace. "I'll just have to try not to die then, won't I?"

Morgan stared at him. "Suddenly your friendship with Gawain makes a horrible kind of sense. You're both utterly mad."

Terence grinned. "It's all that faerie blood in our veins."

"I've faerie blood too," she reminded him. "And I'm perfectly sane."

There was really no call for Terence to look so skeptical.

 _(Then again, you'll be in good company if you fail.)_

* * *

 _7\. Escorts can help you get sponsors. Try not to scare them off._

Rowan sat by the window with her legs wrapped in hot towels. It would keep the pain down for a while.

Marian touched her shoulder gently. "Can I get you anything?"

More time? An undoing of the curse? "No, thank you," she said automatically.

Marian didn't leave. "May I sit with you for a while?"

Rowan shrugged. She didn't care much either way.

Marian perched on the edge of the window seat. "Robin tells me your legs have been like this for a while."

Rowan looked down at her mangled legs. "The Peacekeepers set traps in the woods," she said in answer to the unspoken question. "I wasn't careful enough."

Marian looked horrified. "Why were you in the woods?"

Rowan shrugged and looked back out the window. "I'm the apothecary now. I have to get herbs somehow." It should be past tense now. She should have trained someone to take her place, but no one had seemed suitable.

"But you're so young."

Rowan blinked. What did that have to do with anything? "My mother died," she informed Marian. "Someone had to take over."

"I'm so sorry," Marian breathed.

"Don't be." It was a battle to keep her voice steady when all she could see was her mother's body lying broken at the edge of the woods, the Peacekeepers who had done the job swaggering away.

But then there had been the grove and her voice calling for her mother's people. The Peacekeepers had fallen over this past year, one by one, and now it was her turn to pay her due.

Marian was from the Capital though, so she didn't tell her that. Instead, she just smiled. "I took care of it."

Marian did not look reassured.

 _(If you're going to die anyway, it doesn't matter much.)_

* * *

 _8\. Don't fight with another tribute before you get to the arena._

Puck winced as Granny Relda cleaned the cuts on his face.

She frowned at him. "This shouldn't have happened."

"I wasn't the one who sprang at someone's face like my fingernails were claws!" Puck protested. "Yell at Moth, not me!"

"Mr. Canis is having a talk with Moth," Granny Relda said firmly. "I'm having one with you." She looked as stern as ever, but she looked old too. Older and wearier then she'd looked since her son was taken. "Why would you enter the Games, Puck?"

Puck let the last of the whining slide off his face. "I need an invitation to leave the District," he reminded her. "Can't get past the barrier otherwise."

Relda's face was still weary, but it held understanding now too. "Puck, I know you want to go after your parents - "

Puck laughed. If there was an edge to it, he couldn't help it. "Their Majesties are beyond my reach," he told her. "I'm more concerned with another debt."

That was as much as he could say when they might be overheard, but Relda understood.

For a moment, he could see the longing for her son. Then she pushed it down firmly. "There's nothing you owe my family that will be served by getting yourself killed."

"I'll never pay off anything if I keep piling up debt," he grumbled. The Grimms had fed him, sheltered him, hid him, and protected him, and he hadn't given enough in return. He needed to be able to afford his own house to bind with safe charms before he could really start evening the scales.

Relda's mouth was tight, but she'd learned not to argue with him about debt. "And Moth?"

"Moth tried to kill Sabrina and Daphne. She deserves what she gets."

"All right, Puck," she sighed. "Do it your way."

Faeries didn't care if they disappointed people.

Puck had been living with humans for too long.

 _(The fight isn't always your choice.)_

* * *

 _9\. Make a good impression on your mentor._

Marion had wrapped herself in blankets and burrowed into the couch in the lounge. She raised her eyebrows when Indy walked in. "You really need to stop yelling at our mentors."

Indy threw himself down beside her. "Marcus got lost on a train he's been traveling on for years, and Max is drunk. Again."

Marion scowled. "He's what?" She didn't wait for another confirmation. Instead, she threw off her blankets and stalked off to go find him.

Indy turned on the TV and sank further back into the cushions. He kept the volume low so he could hear the yelling echoing through the cars.

 _(Getting your mentor into fit condition to do their job may be more important.)_

 _10\. Hide your weaknesses._

"We're almost there. Before we arrive, we need to make a plan. Have a seat," Myrtle said.

Rhys sat on one end of the couch. Ella, used to subverting orders however she could, plopped down on the floor.

Myrtle started talking them through strategies. Ella absorbed every casually given order and tried to figure out how to get around them.

She was so used to trying to get around orders, she didn't stop to think about whether or not she _should._

 _(Don't get so caught up with one weakness that you forget about the others.)_

* * *

 _11\. Do whatever your stylists tell you._

Kate looked down at her dress. Little sparks of electricity danced up the black material in a dazzling array that reminded her of stars.

Unfortunately, the neckline was like a diving bird. As in, it was plunging downward.

Tony poked his head in. "Is the stylist gone?" He scanned the room quickly and ducked inside. He grinned at her. "Technically, I'm not supposed to be here, but what the Capital doesn't know what hurt us." The grin faded. "You all right, Katydid?"

She'd ducked behind a tall chair when he walked in even though she knew it was stupid. The whole country would be seeing her soon enough. "Don't call me - " She caught herself. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"If you were fine, you would have finished that sentence," Tony pointed out.

She sighed. "McGee pointed out that this probably isn't the time to be antagonizing you."

"This is the perfect time to be antagonizing me! It'll get your fighting blood up."

She raised her eyebrows.

He grew more serious. "I'm going to get you through this, Kate. You snapping at me isn't going to change that. If ever there was a time when snapping was understandable, it's now, and you don't owe me anything here that you didn't back home."

"I didn't owe you anything back home."

"Exactly. And you don't owe them anything either. Which brings up the issue of your sudden shyness."

She reluctantly stepped out from behind the chair. "It seems a bit . . . low."

"Not exactly your usual style," he agreed. He glanced around and fixated on the machine that the food had popped out of. "Did you know that you can program what color napkins come out of this? And there's got to be a needle and some thread around somewhere."

She smiled in relief. "Thanks, Tony."

He winked at her. "Any time, Cathy-Cat."

She raised an eyebrow.

"No? I'll keep trying. Let's see, what about . . . "

 _(Unless your mentor is willing to help you sew napkins into your dress so well that no one except the stylist notices.)_

* * *

 _12\. Remember to trust no one._

Susan stood tall in the chariot as she waited for the parade to start.

She hated the makeup the stylists had forced her into. She'd spent her life trying to scrub the coal dust off, and now they wanted to paint it on.

At least she was covered, though. The mining outfit was baggy but functional, and she would stand proud no matter what else she had to deal with.

"Are you nervous?" Caspian murmured beside her.

"It'll be just like the plays at school," she said.

Caspian grinned. "A hundred people, a country, what's the difference?"

"Exactly." The music was starting. She took a deep breath.

The chariots in front of them were pulling out. Caspian's hands were shaking a bit. "I, unlike you, have not been in those plays. Would I presume too much if . . . ?" He held out a hand.

She clasped it tightly.

Lucy would be pleased, she thought a bit hysterically.

Then there was a blaze of color all around them, and if either of them was terrified, the crowd would never see it on their faces.

 _(Sometimes trust is worth the risk.)_


	3. Chapter 3

_1\. Be on time to the training center._

Sandy was supposed to be the one to take them down in the elevator, but Bunny was the one who got in the car. Ava took a half-step behind Jack. He threw up a protective arm and backed them both slowly into a corner.

Bunny's ears curled down. Jack watched him warily.

Bunny pressed the button to send them down to the training center before retreating to the opposite corner. He was still far too big for the small space, but at least he was as far away from them as possible.

The doors slid open. Jack kept himself turned so that he was between Ava and Bunny the whole time they were edging toward the door.

The second Ava was through, Bunny grabbed Jack's arm. He tried to twist free, but Bunny's grip was too tight, and the door was already closing behind him. Frantic, he kicked out at Bunny's knee.

He needed his staff. He wasn't used to fighting without his staff.

"Easy, kid. I ain't gonna hurt you." Bunny lifted his hands placatingly.

Jack spun for the control panel. The doors, he needed to open the doors -

Bunny stepped in front of them. Even if he punched the button, he'd still have to get past the six foot rabbit, and he didn't like his chances.

Bunny's hands were still raised. "I just wanna talk."

"Then talk." Jack kept his hands up where he could defend himself easily.

"Your arm," Bunny said. "What happened?"

Jack's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "You don't even remember? Wow." Jamie would have -

He shut that thought down quickly.

Bunny crossed his arms. "Just tell me."

Jack shrugged warily. "You remember a couple years back when the snow was still thick on the ground in early spring?"

"Easter," Bunny muttered.

Jack's eyebrows contracted. "What?"

"Easter. It was Easter."

Whatever he said. Jack wouldn't argue with him when he didn't have to, at least not in an enclosed space. "My sister was sick. We couldn't afford to pay for food and medicine. So I went rooting through people's trash cans. Only most people couldn't afford to throw anything out, so I snuck out to Victor's Village."

If he didn't know better, he'd say that Bunny looked horrified.

If it bothered him to hear how the rest of them lived, so much the better. Jack pushed on. "There wasn't much food in there, and most of it was splattered with paint. That's when the door opened and those weird egg things that show up some springs started marching out. I tried to grab some, and, well, you know the rest."

"It was dark," Bunny said in growing realization. "I thought Pitch was making an early grab for them this year."

"Pitch?"

Bunny winced. "Doesn't matter. Look, kid, the point is, I'm sorry."

Yeah, Jamie's dad had been real sorry too. Jack didn't care. "Can I go now?"

Bunny slowly stepped away from the door. "We're not your enemies, Jack."

"You're not my friends either." He slammed his hand on the button to open the doors and darted through it. Ava was waiting outside it, tiny fists clenched.

Jack grabbed her wrist and took off for the training room doors.

Pitch. The name stuck in his mind as he ran.

It seemed like a suitable name for the shadowy man that had taken Jamie. That his sister and remaining friends would now have to face alone.

"Jack?" Ava whispered.

He was scaring her. He slowed down momentarily and smiled at her. "Bet I can beat you to the doors." He let go of her wrist and took off.

"Cheater!" she shrieked, running after him.

Everyone stared at them when they burst through the doors, but Jack didn't care. Ava was still laughing and that was all that mattered.

 _(Failing that, make an impression.)_

* * *

 _2\. Start training as soon as possible._

Terence walked the perimeter of the room, slowly cataloguing the inhabitants. He'd watched the Reapings carefully. Each name had been carefully imprinted into his mind.

Henry Jones had found a whip somewhere and was trying it out. So far he'd mainly hit himself in the face, but he hadn't given up. Marion Ravenwood was heckling him.

A green-faced Diana was at the edible plants section. She didn't seem to be doing well. Beside her, Gilbert was doing a little better at starting a fire.

Bob was wrecking merry havoc, running around and throwing things off the shelves as fast as the trainers could fix it. Edith was examining the axes with a fascinated grin.

Connoire was practicing throwing knives with Emma and Charles, and -

His eyes slammed to a halt on Ella and Rhys. The girl, at least, had the look to her, and the boy might.

"There's a lot of us this year," said a voice by his ear.

Terence turned to see Puck hanging upside down from the netting on the ceiling.

"Your highness," he murmured.

Puck's face screwed up. "Your grace," he muttered back like it tasted foul on his tongue. "Wasn't sure if I should believe it when they said there was a new duke of Avalon." He changed the subject quickly. "Have you seen Rowan yet?"

Terence followed his prince's gaze to the archery station. A girl with crooked legs was beating Will but only barely. He couldn't see her eyes from here, but it wasn't hard to guess based on those shots. "Faerie blood." He kept looking around the room and frowned. "Where's your fiancée?"

Puck scowled. "Ex-fiancée. She's upstairs."

Terence raised an eyebrow. "That's allowed?"

Puck shrugged. "We'll find out." He didn't sound particularly concerned.

Terence kept looking around. He froze when he got to Jack. "He's been touched by Unseelie magic."

"I know." Puck's voice sounded grim for the first time. "He's not one of us, though."

"That must be where their court settled," Terence murmured. "Whatever was left of it."

None of the rest of the tributes had the look, although Caspian was handling a sword surprisingly well for a beginner, and judging by the traps Susan was setting, he didn't think she kept as far out of the woods as she was supposed to. McGee was fairly useless at the physical things, but Kate dominated the wrestling mat.

That just left Joseph and Alicia. Both careers, both chatting and laughing as they sparred. There was something . . . Terence's eyes narrowed.

"You should go shake their hands," Puck said.

Terence eyed him. "What will happen if I do?"

Puck scowled and shook his hand out. "I don't know, but it still stings like crazy."

There was too much magic. Terence's skin crawled with it.

The bows were calling him, but there was one more thing to settle first. "The arena?" he asked Puck without looking at him. "The Seelie court can't afford to lose either of us at this point, but - "

"That's not an option," Puck interrupted. He finally let go of the netting and flipped down to the ground. "I don't play well with others," he admitted. "But if you stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours."

Terence gave the slightest hint of a bow. Puck went a little red.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," Terence said with a small smile.

Then he ghosted away.

 _(Some things need to be sorted out first.)_

* * *

 _3\. Discuss your performance with your mentor._

McGee was still trying to impress Abby when they got out of the elevator. Tony grinned when he saw Kate's exasperation. "How'd it go, Kate?"

She shrugged. "Not bad." There might not be a girl's wrestling team at school, but there was one for boys, and her brothers had taught her before pneumonia claimed them two years back. She had stayed in practice, and it had paid off. She frowned. "It was kind of weird, though. There were two guys from different districts that seemed to know each other, but we all know that's not possible."

Gibbs looked up sharply from his spot by the counter. Tony shared a glance with him before turning to Kate. "Yeah, about that," he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Let's talk." He steered her towards the living room and turned the volume up on the television as high as it would go. He sat down on the couch and tugged on her arm until she joined up.

He leaned in close before he started talking again. "Listen, Kate, before I went into the Games, Gibbs warned me about what would happen, but I just thought he'd been drinking too much. It wasn't until it was nearly too late that I realized he was right."

She frowned. "Right about what?"

She could barely hear him over the sound of the Games analysts screaming from the television. "The Games aren't played live. They're on an hour's delay."

That made a certain kind of sense. That way, they could censor anything they didn't want seen. Still - "How does that affect the tributes?"

Tony's eyes were locked on hers. "Some of the tributes are . . . weird. I'm not talking McGoo weird here. I mean like ghost story weird."

She let out a startled laugh. "You're joking."

But Tony's eyes were serious. "You remember how I got burned really badly in my last fight? Didn't you think it was weird that the Capital would only shoot fire at me, not the other guy?"

She shook her head in denial. "They didn't want you to win. They were trying to punish Gibbs."

He smiled grimly. "Well, you're not wrong, but that's not what was going on. It wasn't the Capital who was shooting it at me. It was the Career. A kid from the same district Seph and Leesha are from." Seeing her confused expression, he adjusted quickly. "Jospeh and Alicia. I've been talking to their mentors, but that's not the point. The point is, there are some districts you need to let wear themselves out before you face them."

Kate wasn't sure she believed him, but she couldn't think of a reason he would lie to her either. "Like . . . mutts?" she suggested, trying to make sense of it. "Is the Capital experimenting on kids from other districts?"

Judging by the expression on Tony's face, that was a possibility he spent long nights trying not to think about. "I don't know. I just know you have to be careful. I'll tell you everything I know, but it might not be enough. That's where this come in." He pulled a bracelet covered in dull grey paint from his pocket. "Meet your new district token."

She picked it up carefully. It was cool on her skin. "It's heavy."

"It's cold iron," he said. "It won't help with all of them, but if all else fails, try it." He looked around nervously and then lowered his voice even further. "Just don't tell anyone else that. If the Gamemakers knew it could be used as a weapon, they wouldn't let you have it."

Somehow, calling the little bracelet a weapon made everything he'd just said a lot more real.

So did the blood filled stories he told her in a hushed whisper for the rest of the evening.

 _(There might be more important things to discuss.)_

* * *

 _4\. Don't discuss secrets where there might be bugs._

Hastings had been staring at him all through supper. Seph was getting a little unnerved.

Finally, after dinner, Hastings stood, eyes still locked intently on Seph. "A word."

Leesha glanced up from the piece of chocolate cake she'd been playing with. "I thought you were supposed to be my mentor," she said with an exaggerated pout.

Seph would buy that look a lot more if he hadn't seen her train as viciously as he had.

Hastings shook his head dismissively. "That doesn't mean I can't have a word with Seph," he pointed out with deceptive calm. "A word. Now." He turned and stalked from the room.

Seph glanced at Linda for guidance. She bit her lip but nodded for him to follow Hastings.

As he left the room, he could hear her say to Jack brightly, "Jack, why don't you tell Leesha what happened last year at dinner?"

Ellen laughed. "That meal seriously damaged your image of impeccable mentor."

Jack groaned.

Seph shook his head as he walked away. By the time they got back, Leesha wouldn't even remember that she had been upset.

Hastings had disappeared into one of the bathrooms of all places. Seph could hear the faucet running. He stepped back a bit to wait for him.

Hastings poked his head out the door, annoyed. "Hurry up." He disappeared back inside, and the shower started blasting water at its heaviest setting.

Oh. It was like at the Career Training Center when Jason had cast charms to keep Dr. Leicester from hearing him rant about the Games. He'd always made sure there was some other source of noise nearby to amplify the spell. Hastings was powerful enough Seph wouldn't have thought it was necessary, but then again, the Capital probably had better than average bugs.

He slid into the white tiled bathroom nervously. Hastings was leaning against the opposing wall, muttering the end to an anti-eavesdropping charm.

Seph had been looking for similarities between himself and his parents for as long as he could remember. He could see the same traces now that he always had, but there was nothing of himself in the dark intensity in Hastings' eyes.

Then again, that might have more to do with his father being a victor than anything. Maybe he would have eyes like that if he survived.

There could only be one reason why Hastings wanted to talk to him alone. "Linda told you."

Hastings started to reach out as if to touch him, but he pulled his hand back quickly and crossed his arms instead. "Yes. Finally," he said shortly. "When did she tell you? Right after the Reaping?"

Seph shrugged. "She confirmed it. My foster-mother told me the truth from the beginning."

Hastings closed his eyes. "That . . . explains some things," he said in a strained voice.

Like the fact Seph had a bad tendency to lose control of his magic and cause small inconveniences like dive bombing birds when Hastings came to the inn.

When Hastings opened his eyes again, they were darker than ever. "I wouldn't cooperate with Snow after my Games. Within a year, my brother was dead, my sister was dead, my father was dead, and my mother was as good as. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Part of Seph, the part that had watched his father's face for years for signs of anything more affectionate than an almost forgotten tip, felt like it had finally fallen into place.

The part that had watched Jason die and that would have rooted for Leesha had things turned out differently pointed out the problem with this. "That's going to be hard to promise if you're Leesha's mentor," he pointed out.

"That makes it easier to promise," Hastings countered. "We've put the two of you down as allies. That means the money sponsors send will go to both of you. We can control the split."

"That's not fair to her," he blurted out before he could really think through it.

"Fair?" Hastings scoffed. "There's a twelve year old girl in the arena this year. Another tribute has two legs that broke and never healed right. You and Leesha are both wizards, there's a sorcerer named Rhys from another district - The Games are never about fair. They're about making sure you're still alive to complain about it." He pushed himself off the wall. "District Twelve has easiest access to the roof, but there's a stairwell up to there. Come on."

Seph hurried after him. "What are we going to do on the roof?"

"Training," Hastings tossed over his shoulder. "The kind you can't do when there are cameras watching." He slowed down a bit just outside a door that Seph assumed led to the stairs. He laid a hand on Seph's shoulder. Even through the cloth of his jacket, Seph could feel the heat of his father's magic. "You're going to be all right," he said, and there was so much power in his words, Seph almost believed him.

 _(At least cast up some spells first.)_

* * *

 **A/N: A few points of clarification:**

 **In Gerald Morris's The Squire's Tales, people who have faerie blood have a certain look in their eyes that others with the blood always recognize. I've borrowed that here.**

 **Due to Terence's age and the barrier that normally prevents Puck from leaving his district, Puck and Terence are meeting face to face for the first time. However, they do know each other by reputation and would be able to sense the other's power.**

 **The Seelie courts are a smashup of classic legend, the Sisters Grimm, Squire's Tales, and my own spin on things, so if you're trying to figure out where someone fits into it, feel free to ask.**

 **Seph, Leesh, and Indy are referred to by formal names throughout this by people who wouldn't know their nicknames; I apologize for any confusion.**


	4. Chapter 4

_1\. Do not steal things from Gamemakers._

 _(This is going to be a case of do as I say, not as I do.)_

* * *

 **Gamemaker Notes (Personal Use Only)**

 **Recorded by Marcus Gleam, Junior Gamemaker**

* * *

 **District 1:**

Male - Bingley, Charles

Score: 8

Notes: The kid's okay with a sword, but it's not really what I was expecting from a core district. Still, there are certain expectations to be met, and giving one of those kids a lower score would have caused questions, according to Mr. Crane.

. . .

Female: Woodhouse, Emma

Score: 10

Notes: That girl is creepy. She beheaded those training dummies in five seconds flat. And then she smiled. I think she was even wearing lipstick. It was weird.

Uh, I mean, in my professional opinion, she'll do great. Can't wait to see her in the melee.

In the meantime, they're bringing out the first course. This is going to be awesome.

* * *

 **District 2:**

Male - McCauley, Jospeh

Score: 8

Notes: I really like that kid. Just can't help it, you know? The others liked him too, so it wasn't just me.

To be honest, he wasn't that great with the spear he used, but everyone knows he's Hastings' son, so most of his weapons in the arena will be ones we have to fuzz out on the camera. Might as well go ahead and score him high.

Besides, like I said. We all liked the kid. You get a nice warm feeling when he talks to you.

. . .

Female - Middleton, Alicia

Score: 9

Notes: Are all the girls going to be this scary? Because she came down in this awesome outfit, gorgeous smile, and then she just -

Wow, man. Wow.

She probably should have gotten a ten, honestly, but I kind of got the impression she didn't like me very much, and, well -

The Gamemakers all have to go to a party with the Victor, and I really don't want to be stuck in a room, with her, okay?

* * *

 **District 3:**

Male - Greyling, Bob

Score: 4

Notes: Is that thing a mutt or what? 'Cause there's no way that thing's human. No. Way.

Also, it tore all the stuffing out of the punching bags. It did it impressively fast, but still. It's like a little yellow ball of destruction.

And it kept yelling "Banana!" That's not going to play well with the audience.

Besides, the fruit we were all munching on was pineapple, not bananas.

Female: Nunson, Edith

. . .

Score: 4

Notes: I give her points for enthusiasm and bloodthirstiness, but honestly, most of the weapons in here are bigger than she is. If I was allowed to bet, I'd bet on her dying in the melee.

Also, are the tributes allowed to bring food in here? I feel like we're the only ones supposed to have food in here.

* * *

 **District 4:**

Male - Goodfellow, Puck

Score: 9

Notes: Impressive swordsmanship, especially considering how wiry he is.

The stink bomb he hid was also impressive, despite what Mr. Crane said.

Unfortunately, the cleaning crew still hasn't gotten all the stench out. Even more unfortunately, I think the lamb they had just brought out is going to be ruined.

. . .

Female: Summers, Moth

Score: 7

Notes: Mr. Crane just told all of us to give her a seven despite the fact she didn't even show up. Apparently she's being kept locked up until the Games for fear of her letting loose fireballs, or something.

There are some really, really crazy things that live in the districts.

* * *

 **District 5:**

Male - McGee, Timothy

Score: 6

Notes: On the one hand, shorting out the electricity in the Training Center was really clever. On the other hand, it won't help in the Games, and all this property destruction is really cutting into our budget.

. . .

Female - Todd, Caitlyn

Score: 8

Notes: Finally, a normal tribute. She requested an instructor on hand for a wrestling demonstration, and she did well.

Plus, no property destruction! We got to eat in peace, so that was nice, although I have to admit, the lingering smell is kind of cutting into my appetite.

* * *

 **District 6:**

Male - Overland, Jackson

Score: 6

Notes: The kid's good with that staff, but it's not exactly the deadliest weapon in the room, is it? Still, not bad for his district.

. . .

Female - Linnet, Ava

Score: 3

Notes: I feel bad for the kid. I really do.

And, hey, she's fast enough. If she runs from the Cornucopia, she might not die immediately.

She just threw something at Mr. Crane to make him pay attention to her. I'm not sure if I should add a point or subtract one.

* * *

 **District 7:**

Male - Scarlet, Will

Score: 8

Notes: That boy can shoot. Like, insanely well. He might actually have a chance.

And according to Mr. Crane he's a member of some sort of rebel group. Great. That's going to give me nightmares for the next week.

I need chocolate to take my mind off this. Someone order some chocolate.

. . .

Female - Prior, Rowan

Score: 4

Notes: And she's limping. Fantastic. This is going to painful.

She's staring at us. She's just . . . Staring at us.

What's she doing with her fingers? Is she hexing us? She can't hex us, can she?

She is definitely on the list of people I don't want to go to a party with, but I don't want to give her any lower than this. Just in case.

* * *

 **District 8:**

Male - Levy, Rhys

Score: 5

Notes: He floated into the room. Literally floated.

So that's a thing. Apparently.

If he's got any offensive skills, I didn't see them. He just tied knots the whole time.

Still. Levitation. I've gotta admit, that's cool.

. . .

Female - Frey, Ella

Score: 4

Notes: She seems clever enough, but she is clumsy. Like, it's a miracle she's still alive clumsy.

But, hey! Steak cubes just got brought out! She deserves to share in my good mood.

* * *

 **District 9:**

Male - Jones, Henry

Score: 7

Notes: Impressive gymnastics, and he's really caught on to how to use that whip.

Plus, he had a cool hat.

. . .

Female - Ravenwood, Marion

Score: 7

Notes: She's got impressive aim, I just really wish she hadn't been throwing things at us. Seriously, what's gotten into the tributes this year?

Also, she started throwing those little dye pots from the camouflage station midway in and my hair's still pink. And brown. And green. And orange.

It's not a good combination.

* * *

 **District 10:**

Male - Avalon, Terence

Score: 9

Notes: He's both scary quiet and scary good with that bow.

Actually, he's sort of just scary in general. He's got this look about him. I don't like it.

I also don't like the way my stomach feels. Those steak cubes might have been a little underdone, come to think of it.

. . .

Female - Noble, Connoire

Score: 5

Notes: Next year I'm demanding a splatter shield. When she saw we were drinking, she marched right up and grabbed the punch bowl and - you guessed it - she threw it at us. And some of the cups.

I'm getting really sick of having things thrown at me. Seriously, is everyone from the districts some sort of psychopath or what?

* * *

 **District 11:**

Male - Blythe, Gilbert

Score: 6

Notes: Refreshingly sane. He lifted weights mostly. Not bad, but pretty tame compared to the rest of them. He did look pretty curious about some of the stains, though. Even the cleaning crew couldn't get rid of all of them.

. . .

Female - Barry, Diana

Score: 6

Notes: Er, to be honest I wasn't paying much attention to her. They brought in this really good chocolate cake . . .

Six is a nice, neutral number. Nobody will notice I wasn't paying attention if I suggest a six, right?

* * *

 **District 12:**

Male - Prince, Caspian

Score: 10

Notes: Good with a sword, not a sociopath, gave us a nice little bow, and he was mercifully brief.

My stomach hurts, I have a headache, and I hate everything. Can I go home now?

. . .

Female - Pevenise, Susan

Score: 10

Notes: Another archer. I don't think we're going to have enough bows for all of them.

She was good. They were all great. Or they were all awful. Or both. I don't care. The rest of them can give whatever scores they want to. I just want to take something for this headache and sleep until it all goes away.

I'm telling you, those kids are creeeepy. Really, really, creepy. Some of them didn't even seem human . . .

* * *

 _2\. Do not throw things at the Gamemakers. Do not make the Gamemakers think you're a sociopath. Do not show weakness. Do not let them get bored._

 _(Do whatever you want. Have some fun. Bad scores can be overcome. Trust me. I got a five.)_


	5. Chapter 5

_1\. Try not to quote Latin at the audience._

"What do you like to do for fun, Emma?"

"Oh, since Mr. Knightley is here, I suppose I must lie and say reading. I've been trying to pretend to be intellectual these past six months, but it's done me no good, I'm afraid. I can wield my knives well enough, but I can barely manage an "Et tu, Brute?" over them, and I fear Mr. Knightley knows and judges me for it."

 _(They won't understand it, and they don't like to feel inferior.)_

* * *

 _2\. Stay on safe topics._

"So, Bingley, handsome guy like you, there has to be a girl at home."

Bingley's face lit up. Mr. Bennett sat back with a wry smile. That would eat up the rest of the time nicely.

 _(Be careful what you say, though. Your girlfriend's watching back home.)_

* * *

 _3\. Don't bring up old tributes._

"So, Alicia - "

"Leesha, please." She leaned forward, smiling prettily. "It's what all my friends call me."

Caesar blinked at the sudden wave of charm that washed over him. "Leesha it is. Any of those friends of the special sort?"

"Oh, not since Jason. You remember Jason, don't you? I'm afraid he wasn't very comfortable on your show. Kept playing with those charms of his." She laughed, just a bit too brightly. "I'm wearing one to remember him by as my district token. Do you like it?" She toyed with the charm on the end of her necklace. It glittered distractingly.

Jack groaned.

 _(The Capital doesn't care for pointed reminders.)_

* * *

 _4\. Seriously, don't call the Capital out._

"So, Seph, what's surprised you most about your journey so far?"

"I'd have to say it was getting to know my parents. Hastings and Linda," he clarified with a charming smile. "It's amazing how many Victors' families got picked this year."

Caesar's smile was strained. "Amazing."

 _(It's the perfect platform for doing so, but they can make you regret it.)_

* * *

 _5\. Try not to act like a child._

Edith's feet didn't quite touch the floor. She kicked them absently and tried to discreetly wipe a bit of juice from her mouth.

"Tell me about your family," Caesar said.

Edith brightened. "Agnes taught me how to make a noise like this." She puffed out her cheeks and started patting them rapidly.

"Yes, that will draw sponsors," Gru grumbled from the seat.

Dr. Nefario patted his arm consolingly. "They never really had a chance anyway."

That did not make him feel better.

 _(People don't like to remember who it is they're killing.)_

* * *

 _6\. Do not speak solely on bananas._

"Banana!"

"So I've heard."

 _(If you're anyone but Bob, it will get boring fast.)_

* * *

 _7\. Don't rant about wanting to kill your district partner._

Most people would think the iron chains curling up Moth's body were some kind of jewelry and that the angry red marks were some kind of makeup.

Relda knew better. If it weren't for those chains, any illusion of Moth being human would be long gone.

"Care to reveal any hints about your strategy?"

Moth's eyes were locked on where Puck lounged in his seat. "I will rip out your heart and eat it," she hissed.

Caesar followed her gaze. "Looks like we've already got one rivalry, folks! And from the same district, too. Care to tell us the backstory on that?"

Relda closed her eyes and prayed they wouldn't have to use Forgetful Dust on the whole of Panem.

 _(The Capital won't mind, but if you make it home, your district will kill you.)_

* * *

 _8\. Don't burp on national television._

Puck slouched in his chair and tugged at the collar of his fancy shirt.

"So, Puck, care to comment on your fellow tribute?"

He belched and smirked at the reaction it got. "What was the question?"

 _(It's rude, crude, and socially unacceptable. Also, it won't impress girls.)_

* * *

 _9\. Trust your mentor._

"Your mentor tells me that you prefer to be called - "

Kate immediately overcame her nerves to cut that off right there. "Kate," she said firmly. "Kate or nothing."

Tony winked at her from his place in the stands.

 _(We talk to Caesar before time, and, despite what you might think, we only want to help.)_

* * *

 _10\. Don't flirt on national television._

"I'm going to go out on a limb and assume Tony was joking when he said I should call you McGeek, but I like what it says about you. You've got a pretty big brain in that head of yours, don't you?"

McGee puffed up. "I can out think anyone in that arena." He shot a glance at Abby to see what effect his words had.

Gibbs winced.

 _(Seriously. Don't.)_

* * *

 _11\. A word to the mentors: Try not to brood._

"You and your district partner seem to have become good friends, Ava. Did you know each other before the reaping?"

Ava giggled. "Everyone knows Jack."

Except us, apparently, North thought gloomily.

 _(That's what the rest of year is for.)_

* * *

 _12\. Just relax._

Jack grinned at the camera. His hands kept twitching to the edge of his shirt, though, like he was nervous.

"You've really taken Ava under your wing, Jack."

Jack shrugged. "We all need someone to watch our back. Especially in the arena."

Bunny rubbed his arm. _Who was watching yours, mate?_

 _(True, the whole world's watching, but you'll do fine.)_

* * *

 _13\. Don't admit to crimes._

Rowan limped into her seat.

"I've heard you're a good archer," Caesar said gently.

Rowan stared straight ahead. "I used to poach game in the woods before one of the Peacekeepers' traps caught my legs."

Caesar blinked.

Robin sighed.

 _(Of course, if you're going to die anyway . . . )_

* * *

 _14\. Don't allude to being a rebel._

"What's your strategy for the Games, Will?"

Will's nervous glance flicked over the audience before landing on Robin. "To make Robin proud."

Caesar took that and ran with it, trying to delve into how Robin had been a mentor to him even before the Games.

Those who knew about Robin's extracurricular activities knew better than to take that at face value.

Unfortunately, that included Snow.

 _(Snow will know, and he won't like it.)_

* * *

 _15\. Try not to let a curse get the better of you._

"Tell us about your family," Caesar invited.

Despite the friendly tone, it was still an imperative sentence. An order, as the curse saw it.

So Ella talked. And talked. And talked.

For the full three minutes.

Myrtle's eyebrows went up. "This could be a problem," she whispered to Ijori.

 _(If it does, have fun with it.)_

* * *

 _16\. Try to look like a potential Victor._

Rhys pulled six balls out of thin air and started juggling them. Caesar kicked off a round of applause.

Ijori and Myrtle joined in quickly. Anything to keep them from seeing that Rhys walked half a centimeter above the floor.

 _(No one remembers strategy speeches. Everyone remembers the unique.)_

* * *

 _17\. Be friendly to Caesar._

Marion sat elegantly on the edge of her chair. She looked lovely in her white dress.

She also looked murderous, but these were the Hunger Games. That was a bonus.

 _(Menacing works too.)_

* * *

 _18\. Listen to the advice you're given._

The hat really didn't match Indy's suit, but even though the stylist had confiscated it, it had somehow ended up back on his head by the time he strolled up to the stage.

His mentors were too out of it to notice.

 _(Hats are an exception.)_

* * *

 _19\. You can't talk about your training score._

"So, Connoire, what do like most about the Capital?"

She smiled demurely. "The punch."

The Gamemakers tried not to look like they knew what she was talking about.

 _(You can, however, drop hints.)_

* * *

 _20\. Menacing is good. Creepy is bad._

Terrence looked eerie under the stage lights.

Of course, he often looked eerie. Particularly to people that didn't know him.

Particularly when he smiled.

 _(Creepy is a matter of opinion.)_

* * *

 _21\. Give Caesar a break._

Caesar was relieved to get to Diana. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, entirely too sincerely for his own comfort.

 _(But make sure you're still memorable.)_

* * *

 _22\. Act natural._

Gilbert shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Anne might have sailed through her interview when she was in the Games, but he wasn't Anne. Words didn't fly from his mouth, bright and beautiful.

Thinking about Anne didn't help him get his thoughts in any better order.

 _(That's a contradiction in terms.)_

* * *

 _23\. Don't tell inside jokes._

Susan didn't so much sit in the chair as reign from it. She had been born to be a coal miner, but she sat like a queen.

"It was very brave of you to volunteer for your sister."

Susan's lips curved slightly. "It was only logical."

From the audience, Diggory smiled.

 _(Or at least make sure they're worth it.)_

* * *

 _24\. Don't accuse someone of murder on national television._

"So you win, you go home. What do you plan to do then?"

"I will make sure my uncle is punished for killing my father."

Caesar blinked, but he recovered quickly. "Certainly a worthy goal. Let's hear it for our tributes, folks!" Then, to himself, "This'll be a night they remember."

And one most of the tributes wouldn't have a chance to remember for long, Polly thought bitterly.

Tonight, the lights glittered. Tomorrow, the farewells. And then -

Then things that glistened, dark and deadly.

 _(If you've got unfinished business, might as well finish it.)_


	6. Chapter 6

_1\. The first rule of dealing with tributes is to never get attached._

On a normal night, Sandy flew through the city on his clouds of golden sand, sending out steams of gold to bring good dreams to those few he could.

This night, the last night, was always the exception.

Tonight was reserved for the children of the Games, from tiny Ava asleep in her room to the aging Catherine de Bourgh who had come along to help the younger mentors with her particular brand of advice. The ancient Seelie princess seething in her sleep, even as she flinched away from her chains, the monstrous wolf and the aging man it was trapped in, the Victors that had to swallow far too many pills to fall asleep, the tributes who weren't allowed to and that fluttered solely at the edges . . . Every one of them got sweet dreams tonight. It was all he could give them now.

A pretty wedding for Diana, a feast for Bob, Gibbs' family alive again, Hastings standing victorious in the wake of a rebellion . . .

Even with Pitch far away and locked away in a district, the dreams still wanted to turn dark, so Sandy patrolled diligently every year. He was on his first round now, but he would have to come back to make sure memory didn't turn the sweetness to poison.

Jack was next. Sandy floated through the door and sent out a curl of sand. A snowball fight with his friends, perhaps. A more innocent game for the boy to play.

As the sand floated through the room, it illuminated all it passed, including the clothes that had been emptied from the drawers and stuffed under the bed until there wasn't room for another sock. Jack lay on top of the covers, a rolling pin and the salt shaker from the kitchen clutched in his hands.

Sandy frowned. A question mark pulsed over his head, but there was no one awake to see it.

The sand touched Jack's cheek. He jerked awake instantly. He swung wildly with both of his improvised weapons. The pin passed through the sand, but the salt sizzled where it hit. Sandy jerked back.

Jack was on his feet, eyes scanning the room. He frowned when his eyes rested on his escort. "Sandy? What are you doing here? What's this?" His voice was wary.

Sandy pursed his lips. Miming the concept wouldn't be easy. He sent up an image of Jack sleeping on the bed.

"Yes, I know I was sleeping. I need rest for tomorrow. What were _you_ doing?"

Sandy sent images of candy and cakes dancing over the image of the sleeping Jack's head.

Jack frowned. "You were . . . giving me good dreams?"

Sandy nodded.

Jack lowered his weapons. "Huh. That's the first time that's happened."

Sandy drooped. The Dark Days had ended with him bound to the president's will, and that didn't include bringing light to the districts.

"Normally it's those horses bringing nightmares. That's why I woke up when I started dreaming."

Sandy straightened. He sent an image of an eye over his head, then a question mark.

"Yeah, I can see them," Jack said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I know a lot of people can't. Jamie could," he added as an afterthought. "Before Pitch took him."

Sandy sent up another alarmed question mark.

Jack rubbed his arms. "We fought them," he said quietly. "All of us. Guess we went too far. The head guy tried to get Jamie's dad to kill him and Sofie. It almost worked, but the rest of us got there in time. Only," he swallowed. "Not quite fast enough. When he saw it hadn't worked, he dragged Jamie off. Pulled him under the bed."

The clothes stuffed under Jack's bed glowed in the soft light of the sand.

"We're still looking," Jack said quickly. "He could still be out there."

Sandy nodded.

Jack rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. You're Capital. You don't care about kids dying."

Sandy used the stream of sand to smack him in the head.

"Hey!" He looked at Sandy indignantly but he relaxed a bit when he saw his expression matched on Sandy's face. "Guess you do care, huh?"

Sandy nodded firmly.

"Huh," Jack said again. "Wish you could talk and explain all this better."

That made two of them. It was getting late though, and Jack needed his sleep. Sandy sent out a gentler curl of sand. Jack's eyes started drooping when it touched him.

"Night, Sandy," he murmured before dropping off.

Sandy sent him a dream of finding his friend. Then he found another blanket and tucked it around the boy.

For tonight at least, there was no need for Jack to be able to fight the moment he woke.

. . .

Abby's first memory of the Games was being curled up with her mother and her brother on the couch while the final battle played out on the screen. Her mother had pressed a hand over their eyes and started singing to cover the sound of the screams. "It'll be over soon," she promised when she stopped for breath. "Just a little longer, darlings, and it will all be over."

Her mother had been found to be an unfit parent just a few months later, and Abby had been sent to a new home.

Her brother wasn't with her, and she dreamed of him being reaped.

The problem with the Games, she decided as she got older, was that it wasn't like the movies. She never knew who she was supposed to be rooting for until it was all over and they released the edited version which meant she normally ended up rooting for someone that died, and then she got upset and got in trouble.

But she liked the parties and the excuse to try out her new clothes, and she liked the idea of her job being to be friendly and help people, so she decided to try for being an escort.

They liked her bubbliness and how her dark clothes contrasted with the neons everyone else was wearing that season, so she was hired and handed the hardest job they had: District 5. Gibbs and Franks.

She didn't see what all the fuss was about. Gibbs just needed a hug, and although Franks teased her about the chemistry books she read on the train, he was much nicer than the so-called Charming had been.

Paula and Stan were nice too; Stan flirted with her some, but he was a perfect gentleman, and Paula let her make a fake wound on her arm with some makeup to scare Stan with.

It had been perfect, right up until Paula dropped her district token while she was standing on the plate.

Then Stan got stabbed.

And then, the next year, Vivianne's allies betrayed her, and Donnelly got hit with an arrow.

EJ drowned. Chip was eaten by mutts.

Jimmy made it to the final eight before -

Wendy.

Sacks.

Zoe.

Delilah.

And stuck right in the middle, Franks, after he was supposed to be safe.

Somewhere in there, she saw the coffins they were sent home in. They looked more like packing crates.

She went home to her own coffin - black silk, extra padded, vampire lace blanket - and she very carefully poured just the right chemicals on it.

Everyone assumed the fire was an accident.

Then Tony. Bright, funny, Tony, that Gibbs, with hollow eyes, told her had to win, no matter what.

Anything for Gibbs, anything at all, so she smiled and dined the sponsors and donated the maximum amount escorts could donate.

And when the tributes were dropped into a desert and Jeanne, half-dead, asked for water from District 5's only mentor, she didn't say a word when Gibbs held their money back to save it for medicine for Tony's wounded arm.

She cried until she had more mascara on her face than her lashes once she was safely home. She felt stupid for wasting the water. She never told Gibbs.

And neither of them ever told Tony.

So many names.

And now it was Kate and McGee, and Abby was lying in the bedroom she borrowed while the Games were on, listening to Tony babble with fake cheer while Gibbs made his way through his first three cups of morning coffee. Kate would be up soon to get those pastries she liked, and McGee would pick foods based off his carefully designed meal plan.

In a few weeks, she told herself firmly, she'd be taking one of them home.

That wasn't quite good enough, but it got her out of bed and reaching for the shade of lipstick McGee liked, so it would do.

"Just a little longer," she whispered, trying on a smile and trying not to let it shake. "It'll all be over soon."

. . .

The word snow always conjured two images in Charming's mind. Their president, of course, a man he found it safest not to think too much about, and the tribute. _His_ Snow.

She'd been so pale and quiet at first that if it hadn't been for her stunning face, Charming might have overlooked her. But every mile they put between them and District 4 - and, more importantly, her stepmother - brought a little more life into her cheeks and a little more fire into her eyes. By the time she was dropped into the arena, she was ready to fight, and Charming was ready to break every rule in the book to find some way to let her stay in the Capital when she won.

He'd been eighteen, just old enough to work, and he'd been convinced she was the one.

And she may have been, but she hadn't been the last one standing.

She'd died slowly, bit by bit as the blood drained out, and he'd driven himself mad trying to whip up enough sponsors to send in a parachute to save her.

Not enough. Never enough.

Not then, not the next year, when quiet Rapunzel was almost relieved to be reaped if it meant getting away from her adopted mother, and he thought he'd been given another chance.

Not real, not real, not real, part of him had chanted, but he could save her, he could keep her safe, he could -

He'd known better than to try again, he had, but late one night on television he'd seen the Games Relda's son, Jacob, had been reaped with Rose Briar, and they'd fallen in love on national television.

The district, he had decided, fuzzy headed from lack of sleep, was cursed. It was cursed, and it was up to him to break it.

So when Ella came, Ella with her hands raw from cleaning and her stepmother's words ringing in her ears, he had _known_ -

Relda had tried to talk to him. He didn't remember what he'd said to her, but he assumed it had been the wrong thing. Snow had told him once that he always lived up to his name until he opened his mouth.

She'd been teasing him, then. If she saw him now, she probably wouldn't be.

Now it was Moth, and he knew better than to try. He'd had his chance. Three chances, even, like the fairy tales he'd watched as a child had always had. You only ever got three chances.

He didn't care for the boy, and he'd barely seen the girl, but the coffee still tasted like dust as he swallowed it mechanically. Relda was fond of the boy he knew, and he respected Relda.

He respected her, so before the boy could come wandering in wearing that ratty hoodie of his, he told her, "They're going to die, you know."

Relda's old, wrinkled hands grew white as she tightened her grip on her mug. "Charming," she warned. A fly buzzed past her.

"Watch how you speak, boy," Canis growled, the savagery of his Games suddenly more evident in his aging voice.

"It's not an opinion," Charming snapped. "It's the orders that are being given. They're not going to last the Games."

Canis's silverware snapped in two.

Relda's gaze was steady. "How do you know this?"

He scowled. "I'm still allowed to collect money, but I'm not to campaign. You know what happened the last time an escort was told that."

They did.

Relda's face was still pinched, but she reached for the bowl of rolls with surprisingly steady hands. "They may surprise you," she said levelly.

"I doubt that," he said shortly. The fly settled on the chair next to him. He batted at it with his napkin.

The fly's head swelled and turned into Puck's.

Charming shouted and leaped to his feet.

Puck's head grinned at him. "Don't disrespect the magic, Charming."

"No shifting at the breakfast table," Relda said disapprovingly. "We talked about this, Puck."

Charming finally found his voice. " _That_ is disgusting," he said levelly. "Excuse me."

He made his way from the room, pushing down the nausea in his throat.

 _(If you have a single scrap of humanity left, you_ will _get attached, and it will break you.)_

* * *

 _2\. Don't betray your tributes._

Mr. Tumnus was very glad that the tiny daughter of Eve that he'd first reaped hadn't been the one he'd ended up bringing to the Capital. He wasn't sure he could have brought himself to follow his orders if she had been the one.

It wasn't much easier with her sister. His hands shook as he shook the vial as instructed. She had been so brave to volunteer, and the way she and the son of Adam looked at each other, sideways and hesitant, made him want to go to a quiet place and cry.

It was wrong, it was very wrong, but if he didn't do it, than Mistriss Jadis would find out, and if Mistriss Jadis found out, than she would report it to Queen Mab, and -

He was only a faun, just a faun, and he couldn't be expected to stand up against the Unseelie queen herself. He couldn't even stand up to Mistress Jadis.

Polly and Digory had gone to wake young Susan and Caspian. There was no one in the breakfast room but the Avoxes, and they had been spelled long ago.

Whimpering a little, he poured the potion into both the children's drinks.

It wasn't meant for them, he reminded himself firmly. They were just the means to get the magic into the arena. It would flow out with their every breath until the Seelie were weak and confused. It was meant to make sure none of the enemy fey emerged alive, not aimed at _them_ at all. He wasn't _really_ betraying them.

If he knew all too well what hosting such powerful dark magic was likely to do to them, than he would have burst into tears again, so he pretended that he didn't know.

When the children finally came out, he was crying anyway. Polly patted his arm kindly.

Caspian and Susan were staring at him.

"I'll be very sorry to see you go," he said weakly.

He had to leave the room before he did something stupid, like blurt out the whole sad mess.

. . .

Hastings remembered Jason. He had been clever. Clever enough to make up for his weak magic, but not clever enough to make up for being so relentlessly, impetuously angry.

He had also been determined to get home to his girlfriend.

Leesha.

He had failed Jason. He had hoped that if it ever came to it he could make up for it by saving Leesha.

Hastings had hoped a lot of things in his life. Most of those hopes had ended with graves.

He eyed Leesha critically as she picked at her food. "At least drink something," he ordered. He turned back to Seph. "You too. As much as you can."

The boy was still too thin. At least _he_ was eating.

He didn't - He didn't know how to do this. How to be a father. How to keep his son alive for long enough for that to matter. How to explain to Jack, still idealistic Jack, what he would have to do when it came time to choose between Leesha and Seph.

He _did_ know how to make decisions that would have left another man breaking mirrors rather than looking at them.

So he ate his breakfast and combed through the memories of every plan, every rebellion of the last few months, and tried to figure out what had tipped his hand enough for Snow to see the need to punish him. He looked at Leesha when she talked.

But mainly, he looked at his son.

 _(You killed enough people in your Games. Kill anymore, and you might start thinking there's no way out.)_

* * *

 _3\. Do not fall in love with a tribute._

Anne hugged Diana desperately. "You have to fight," she told her fiercely. "Like when we performed _Boadicea._ "

Diana smiled wetly. The tears had soaked her cheeks. "Like you did."

Anne nodded firmly before turning her attention to Gilbert and hugging him just as fiercely.

In a world that increasingly felt as fragile as the faerie stories she spun, he was reassuringly solid, and the arms he wrapped around her were warm enough to cut through the cold that had wrapped around her like a cloud blanket ever since she'd gotten Matthew killed.

She forced the tears back sternly. "I know I've been perfectly dreadful, but you mustn't think that means I won't get you good sponsors. All you have to do for that is spin a good story, and I'm very good at that."

Gilbert's arms tightened for a moment. She let him for just a second before she straightened and gave a sniff that would have done Marilla proud. "Into the breach, then," she said bravely. "The transport will be here in a minute."

If this was a story they would both come back, but even Anne wasn't a good enough storyteller for that.

. . .

Catherine had been complaining all morning about everything from the time the tributes got up to what they ate for breakfast. Mr. Knightley was long used to tuning her out. Bingley's nervous chatter, Darcy's increasingly curt responses, and the grief sharpened edge of Mr. Bennet's wit were newer distractions, but he managed them.

If Emma was nervous, she didn't show it. She smiled at him slyly. "If you continue to stare at me so, Mr. Knightley, I shall begin to fear I've something dreadful in my teeth."

"Not at all," he told her stiffly. "I was merely - thinking."

"Thinking what you would do if you never saw me again," she said shrewdly. She arched an eyebrow as she pushed herself away from the table. "A little faith would be much appreciated."

The others were rising too. They'd left breakfast too late. They really should have been waiting by now.

He caught her arm and held her back as the others exited. "I have every faith," he assured her. "You are perfectly capable as long as you don't let your cleverness run away with you."

She gasped in mock astonishment. "Mr. Knightley saying there's such a thing as too much cleverness! I wonder at you, truly."

She didn't understand. He could never make her understand, and now - He gripped her arms more tightly. "You have allies," he reminded her. "Use them."

"But don't trust them," she finished. "I know that much." She leaned up to kiss his cheek. He was startled enough to let her go.

She laughed as she danced away. "Cleverness," she told him, smiling impishly. She disappeared through the door only to lean her head back in. "Oh, and Mr. Knightley? If I am terribly unfortunate and do die tragically, you are free to feel as affected as you please, but I must beg you not to write poetry. I have a perfect horror of poetry that is not riddles, and a riddle about my death would never do." She disappeared back into the other room.

He stared after her helplessly. He should have brought up her father. She would have been careful for her father's sake. Or if he had told her more, given her more certainty than the hinted at promises that had gotten them into this mess, perhaps -

She was clever. She was fast. She was well trained.

Perhaps that would be enough.

 _(If you're already in love, there's no help for it.)_

* * *

 _4\. Try to give them helpful advice._

Robin paced in front of both of them.

"Whatever happens, don't lose your head," he ordered them. "It gets to you in there. It's not like it is in the woods. You'll get jumpy. Don't let that mean you make mistakes."

Will nodded tightly. Will was on a hair trigger anyway. It was that jumpiness that had him pushed him into joining Robin's band. If he couldn't control that in the arena, he was dead. Robin wouldn't let that happen.

"That goes for you too," he told Rowan.

She scoffed. "I won't be alive long enough to get jumpy."

"That's not true," Marian tried to assure her.

Rowan just tapped her foot impatiently.

Tuck spoke up for the first time. "It is not too late to be free of the curse you laid, child. It was done in haste. It can be undone."

She raised her chin. "I'm not afraid to pay the price."

Tuck sighed. "Just like Robin," he murmured.

With her chin raised defiantly, it was hard to argue with him. Something about the chin, the eyes . . .

Robin shook it off. "Survive," he told both of them. "But remember that whatever you do, there's going to be a price." He met Rowan's eyes when he said that.

But then, he thought both of them already knew that already.

. . .

"Don't fly," Ijori counselled Rhys. "It'll draw too much attention."

"Don't run," Myrtle told Ella. "You trip when you run. Like Addie does. Just walk fast and find a place to hide."

Ella fought the urge to scream at the order.

. . .

The others were out getting donations. Supposedly. Gru did not trust them.

He looked at his assembled tributes. "You are about to undergo the most dangerous weeks of your lives," he began.

"Assuming you live that long," Dr. Nefario put in.

He looked at him sourly. "Yes, thank you. Assuming you live that long." He raised a finger for emphasis. Bob and Edith were both staring at him, wide eyed. "There is only one rule: Survive. I will expect you to do so." He looked down at the minion. "Bob, if you do not, it will reflect poorly on your performance report. Edith - "

"I don't have a performance report," she interrupted.

"You do now," he improvised. "Consider it an application process. Do not disappoint me. Either of you."

Edith raised a hand.

"Yes?"

"Won't one of us have to?" she asked.

"Technically, yes," he admitted. "I recommend making sure it isn't you."

 _(There's no predicting what's coming next. How helpful can any advice be?)_

* * *

 _5\. Be inspiring._

"If you get killed for my idiot nephew, I won't speak to you for the next hundred years," Morgan warned Terence.

He looked at her blandly. "I thought you were trying to discourage me from dying."

"Impudent boy," she said throwing her hands up in despair. "Connoire, try to stop him from doing anything too stupid."

"I don't see how I'll succeed when the rest of the district has failed," she said doubtfully, "but I'll try."

Morgan said something, but the sound of the hovercraft approaching blocked out her words.

 _(This comes easier to some than others.)_

* * *

 _6\. Know your allies._

Indy sat next to Marion on the hovercraft. She was staring straight ahead. He leaned just close enough to whisper in her ear. "Together?"

She nodded tightly.

He leaned back but left his arm on the shared armrest.

A minute later her fingers crept into his.

 _(Know your friends.)_


	7. Chapter 7

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 73rd Hunger Games!"

* * *

 _1\. Figure out where you are. Quickly._

The bracelet Tony gave her was always cold on her wrist, but now it bit into her. Kate's breath frosted in front of her, and the ground around her was coated in snow that was fairy tale perfect. Skeletal trees glistened with frost to either side of her.

The thin jacket they provided was not going to be enough. She would have to run for something. Her eyes scanned the snow in front of her.

Her eyes narrowed when her scan got close to the tail of the Cornucopia.

. . .

The rust red jacket was just sufficient for the autumn chill, and it blended well with the dead leaves carpeting everything.

The forest around Rowan was unnatural, perpetually caught in the twilight of autumn. The trees were paralyzed by it, calling out.

Rowan's legs were already shaking. She wouldn't be able to run away from this fight, but maybe in those trees she could hide.

. . .

Jack had no idea why they'd given them jackets if they were going to plop them into an arena that was hotter than any summer he'd ever felt. He was sweating already, and the dead grass and dying trees in the cracked ground seemed to agree with him.

The Cornucopia must be baking in the heat, but he wasn't interested in that. He needed to find Ava. He scanned the circle of tributes as best he could. Ava was -

There. His eyes widened.

The forest was lush and beautiful, at the height of spring, but Terence had been to the Other World. He knew better than to trust it.

He turned on the circle, careful of his balance.

The arena sloped down fairly steeply behind them. The Cornucopia was perched on the top of a mountain, then, and the forest covered the ground under it.

Only to his left, the forest grew parched and dry, and to his right it was covered in snow. He could imagine what it looked like directly opposite him.

The four seasons, presumably with traps appropriate for each.

And far more importantly: In the center of the Cornucopia, three shining bows.

 _(Not everything will be as it seems.)_

* * *

 _2\. Be ready to run._

 _Ten._

Bob bounced in the leaves. There was something glittering up ahead. He wanted it.

 _Nine._

Gilbert looked around desperately for Diana. He couldn't see her.

 _Eight._

Indy could just barely make out Marion, but he didn't think she saw him. He didn't dare risk calling out.

 _Seven._

Leesha locked her eyes on a promising looking set of knives. With them, she could dominate the Cornucopia.

 _Six._

The snow steamed around Moth. She could see Puck, only three places over. He was _dead._

 _Five._

Susan met eyes with Caspian. He nodded.

 _Four._

Emma made sure her braid was safely behind her and prepared to run.

 _Three._

Ava knew she was small, but she wasn't scared. She could see Jack close by. She just had to get to him.

 _Two._

Ella knew better than to go for the Cornucopia if she couldn't run. Instead, she angled herself towards the thickest stand of trees she could.

 _One._

Puck threw Moth a mocking grin.

 _Go._

 _(Run. Just run. Please, just run.)_

* * *

 _Spring_

Ella walked stiff legged and fast for her stand of trees. Terence flew by her, past Caspian.

He was shorter than some of them, slighter than almost all, but he was faster than them too. The bow, the quiver, the satchel beside them both -

His.

. . .

Caspian grabbed the first sword he came across and turned to scan for threats. Something barreled at him. Small, yellow - Mutt?

It screamed. He swung.

The sword sliced through it oddly, like it was rubber. It went cleanly through, never hitting bone.

The top half of Bob fell to the ground.

. . .

Gilbert ran in just far enough to grab a backpack. He didn't dare slow down enough to turn around, so he cut across the edge of the killing circle and headed for the dead trees and the heat.

Easier to trust those than the faerie tale he'd left behind him.

. . .

The plan had been for McGee to meet up with Kate and for them both to run, but Kate was headed straight for the Cornucopia.

McGee gritted his teeth and ran too.

* * *

 _Summer_

Ava was right at the edge of summer and spring. She'd scurried forward enough to grab a box of crackers and a small blanket and was running pell mell for him.

In the mouth of the Cornucopia, he could see a metal tipped staff.

Jack grabbed a knife that was a few paces in and ran for Ava with his hand outstretched.

There was plenty of good wood in the spring forest.

. . .

There were spells he could use, but his elders would never approve of it.

Rhys didn't even stop for supplies. He just turned and ran.

. . .

Indy ran for Marion, but everyone else was running too, and he couldn't see her.

He tripped over a coiled up net. There was a knife buried inside. He grabbed it.

He heard screaming behind him. He couldn't wait for Marion here. He ran.

. . .

Emma reached the mouth of the Cornucopia just as Terence was fleeing it. She grabbed a belt of knives and pulled one out, but Terence had ducked to the side of the Cornucopia and was out of sight. Caspian, though -

He ducked the thrown knife just in time.

. . .

Bingley still wasn't sure he could kill anyone, but he grabbed a sword anyway and fell into place guarding Emma's back. He scanned the running figures around him nervously. It was loud, louder than anything he'd ever heard, and -

Noise. He spun, arm flung out defensively.

The arm holding a sword.

The girl - Diana? - was holding a loaf of bread. She'd been crouched down to get it.

A line of red was visible all across her neck.

She fell.

Bingley couldn't breathe.

. . .

Seph didn't need the weapons and didn't want them, but for show he grabbed a long stick with a blade at the end of it. It would do well enough for now.

He held it out threateningly to guard Leesha while she scooped up knives from the pile, but most of the tributes were running for safety.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a girl running in. She was running straight towards them.

Seph threw the weapon without thinking, spitting out an aiming spell Hastings had taught him.

. . .

Something hit Connoire in the stomach. She fell.

 _It hurt, it hurt, get it out, get it out -_

She yanked it free. Blood poured out.

And out.

And -

* * *

 _Fall_

Marion didn't see Indy, so she took off running and hoped for the best.

. . .

Rowan turned and began her slow limp into the woods. The woods called to her, even stunted as they were. She could find a place to make a stand here, if she was careful.

. . .

Edith was too small to be fast and too weak to fight.

She was the perfect height, however, for climbing into a tree that still had leaves on it and settling in to wait.

* * *

 _Winter_

Kate grabbed two knives and slid them into her belt before reaching out to snag a pack. A sixth sense made her duck and roll.

A coil of wire dug into her back as the knife flew over her head. She grabbed it too and tossed it to a panting McGee.

"Come on, McGeek!" She jumped to her feet and sprinted past him. He turned and followed.

She wasn't sure if she trusted the spring woods, but she didn't see any better options.

. . .

The second the trumpet blew, Puck was gone. He sprinted through the snow and headed for the cover of the icicle heavy evergreens farther down the mountain.

He could hear Moth screaming behind him, but he was faster than her, and they both knew it.

There were other trees sprinkled in amongst the evergreens. He leaped for the low branch of an old oak and swung from it to another branch.

Moth could chase him all she wanted, but he'd spent centuries running from angry people in the woods, and the last few years alternately running from and chasing a Grimm. She'd have to try harder than this to catch him.

. . .

Two of the Careers were staring at their own kills like they couldn't believe they'd just done that. Leesha was still grabbing weapons, and Emma was reaching for another knife.

Susan ran for a bow.

Caspian came in behind her to cover her. She heard his sword clanging off something as she grabbed the quiver and nocked an arrow.

Caspian stood with his sword ready. Emma had two knives in her hands and was looking at him warily. Bingley looked too much in shock to do anything. Leesha had her own knives ready, and Seph was recovering but weaponless.

Susan kept her arrow aimed at Leesha and slowly backed away.

When she met up with Caspian he began retreating with her.

The Careers let them go.

. . .

Will needed a bow, but he knew better than to think he could get one. He grabbed a nearby staff instead and ran for the fall section of the forest. He and Rowan didn't have a formal alliance, but he couldn't just leave her on her own.

It was hard to run on the dead leaves on a downward slope. He kept his eyes open. Rowan couldn't have gotten far with her legs.

There. Just ahead.

"Rowan!" Will shouted.

She turned. She had to grab the trunk of a tree to settle herself.

In the piles of leaves between them, something shifted.

Six wolves burst from the leaves and ran straight for Rowan.

"No!"

. . .

Magic costs something. It always cost something.

Especially curses. Especially when you had so little left to lose.

Rowan knew that. Knew she couldn't outrun this. Knew it was time to pay the price.

But she knew how this worked too, so when the wolves howled, and their teeth gleamed, she ran.

 _Run, run,_ the trees whispered.

Her legs, her crooked, useless, legs, stumbled in the uneven ground. The leaves stirred up behind her. One of the wolves yelped.

 _Run, run._

There was a ravine just ahead. She couldn't run, she couldn't make it, but maybe, maybe -

She fell. Hit the ground hard, hands deep in the dead leaves, blood seeping through her pants at the knee.

A wolf crashed into her chest. Teeth closed over her shoulder.

Rowan couldn't run, had nothing to fight with, but she had one thing left: She kicked out as another wolf reached her.

And she did not scream.

. . .

Will crashed through the trees. The wolves had shown no interest in him. Every last one of them had gone after Rowan.

"Hey!" he yelled uselessly. "Over here!"

Rowan fell. The wolves sprang.

Real wolves would have gone for her throat. These weren't interested in a quick kill.

He stumbled to a halt and scrabbled in the leaves until he found a stone. He hurled it at one of the wolves. "Over here, ugly!"

The wolf ignored him and jumped on the quivering pile.

Will threw himself forward and cracked it over the head with his staff. It jerked away.

But it still ignored him.

He threw himself on top of it, arms wrapped around its neck, and heaved it off the pile. It rolled to its feet and tried to spring past him.

He brought the staff down hard on the base of its neck.

The wolf collapsed, quivering.

He turned back to the pile.

The wolves had retreated. They cocked their heads, eyeing him.

Then they turned and ran.

Rowan - what was left of her - what pieces were still -

Not the first death he'd seen. Not the first death he'd seen. Not the first -

Will fell to his knees and threw up.

When he looked up again, the dead mutt had disappeared.

He had to use his staff to force himself to his feet he was shaking so badly.

. . .

A cannon went off.

"Four," Leesha said. She surveyed the field in front of them. "One for the one Bingley killed, one for the one Seph did, and one for the kid the handsome boy with the sword got."

"Caspian," Seph supplied quietly. "That leaves one."

"We'll find out who tonight," Emma said. "We should secure the supplies, get what we need to go hunting, and head out so that they can collect the bodies." She'd sound ruthless to the cameras, but Seph could see the way her hands shook, just a little, and she hadn't even killed anyone yet.

Not like he had.

Bingley still hadn't said anything. Seph thought he might be in shock.

"There's plenty of water here," Leesha noted. "We'd have an advantage if we headed into the summer wedge."

No one objected.

Summer it was.

* * *

 _A note for mentors: It never gets any easier._

Dr. Nefario patted Gru's shoulder consolingly. "He never had much of a chance."

Gru nodded gloomily. "I know."

. . .

Morgan sat with her lips pinched. Morgause was supposed to be Connoire's mentor, but she had shown up to the center late and didn't seem interested in the announcement now.

It helped Terence's chances, but it was another thing her sister would have to pay for, sooner or later.

. . .

Anne sat alone, staring at her screen.

Her freckles stood out very plainly on her white as death skin.

. . .

"I'm sorry," Marian breathed behind Robin and Tuck.

Robin rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to scrub the phantom taste of blood out of it. "They wanted to punish her for the Reaping."

"She went out bravely," Tuck offered.

Robin just nodded tightly. There a sense of loss in his chest he couldn't quite explain.

Marian looked at the screen. "Will seems very shaken. Will he be alright?"

Robin forced himself to look back at the screen. Will was still standing by Rowan's body. He needed to move.

"He needs something to shake him out of it. He always does, after a fight." Normally they all gathered together. Tuck would mend what wounds he could and Much would spoon out hot stew to steady their nerves.

He checked the amount of money they'd collected.

Not enough. Not nearly enough.

They'd have to work on that.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: For those who didn't know anaweir basically means "muggle."**

* * *

 _Be careful._

* * *

Edith waited on her branch. Her stomach was already rumbling. She pressed a hand to it and glared at the Cornucopia. What was taking them so long?

"Wait a second," Seph said, frowning. "We can't just leave the supplies like this."

"Well, there's not enough of us to split up," Emma said archly.

"I know," Seph said, starting to circle around the Cornucopia. "That's why Hastings taught me this." He muttered the words under his breath as he walked. A shadowy web spread over the bounty.

"Impressive," Leesha purred when he circled back around, no sign of strain on his face.

Bingley looked around in confusion. "What is?"

"Anaweir," Leesha said, rolling her eyes at Seph like it was a private joke. "Watch." She picked up a rock and threw it at the web.

When it hit the web, it stuck fast. To the Anaweir, it would seem to be hovering in midair.

Bingley gaped at it. Emma affected to be unimpressed. "If you're done then . . . ?"

Seph gestured grandly and tried to ignore the lingering sick feeling in his stomach.

* * *

Edith couldn't quite see what they were doing through the screen of leaves, but she saw them leave. She counted to one hundred twice once they were gone, just to be sure.

While she was waiting, the hovership came. It picked up three bodies before skipping over a ways into the forest.

Edith stuck her tongue out at it and clambered out of the tree.

* * *

Marion shivered and stomped her feet, trying to get some warmth back in her legs. She couldn't stay here. It was too cold.

She heard an inhuman screech somewhere in the distance. She took off running for the spring wedge.

 _You'd better be there, Indy._

* * *

There was a rock hovering in midair. Edith threw another one.

It started hovering too.

She couldn't help a small smile. She threw another one.

* * *

A small squirrel with over large teeth and Puck's eyes curled into a hollow in the frozen tree. Moth's shrieks grew more distant.

The squirrel chuckled a laugh.

* * *

A line of rocks hung in the air. Edith reached for another.

Something in winter shrieked.

Edith ran for cover in the trees.

* * *

Indy examined his supplies. The knife would be handy, but his eyes kept being drawn to the net.

There were vines on some of the trees here. He could weave them together, make more traps while he waited for Marion.

* * *

Edith pressed herself into the hollow under the bush. Something smooshed against her. The leaves scraped against her head.

Leaves. And berries. Plump and bright red like the juice Gru had told her to drink.

She pulled a few off the branch and popped them into her mouth.

* * *

McGee was puffing like the Big Bad Wolf from the old story and they'd reached the stream, so Kate called a halt.

McGee collapsed gratefully to the ground. Kate settled more carefully and pulled off her pack. Time to inventory supplies.

* * *

The berries popped when she bit into them and filled her mouth with sticky sweetness. Edith pulled herself out of her hollow and began looking for more.

* * *

Jack had carried Ava piggyback ever since they got far enough from the Cornucopia to risk stopping for a moment.

"How much farther?" Ava asked.

Jack readjusted his grip on her legs. "As far as we can." The Careers would have to find other prey tonight.

* * *

Edith licked the stains from her mouth and sat back against a tree. Her tummy hurt a bit. Maybe she'd eaten too much.

* * *

Will had stumbled away. His hands were still shaking.

He couldn't look weak. He mustn't look weak.

Something rustled in the bushes.

Will spun. His staff cracked down. Something whined.

Will ran.

* * *

Edith curled into a ball and started rocking herself. She missed Margo. Margo always made her feel better when she was sick.

Ella found a tree she thought she could climb. She started up it.

Something wet ran across her lip. Edith swiped at it. She wasn't a baby anymore. She didn't cry.

Her eyes were a bit blurry, but she could still see her hand.

It came away red.

* * *

It was hot in the summer wedge, but Rhys didn't mind. He just conjured up a breeze.

* * *

Gru and Lucy stared at the screen in identical horror.

"I'll start calling sponsors," Dr. Nefario said.

* * *

Terence ghosted through trees made brittle from the lack of water. He kept his bow ready.

He'd need water soon. He might have better luck elsewhere.

* * *

Edith bit her lip. She knew she was crying now, but she couldn't help it.

Margo. She wanted Margo and Agnes.

* * *

Gilbert wiped the sweat from his face.

Anne had survived a desert arena. He could survive this.

* * *

It hurt, it _hurt_ , hurt _hurt_ hurt _hurt_ hurt-

A cannon boomed.

* * *

Caspian jumped across the stream first. Susan followed a second afterward.

There was something odd about the air here. It coated her throat and tasted like blood and ashes.

It was appropriate, Susan thought.

She couldn't see the Unseelie magic uncurling with her and Caspian's every breath.

* * *

"Another one bites the dust," Vector said. Cookie crumbs sprayed from his mouth onto the screen.

Gru turned, his fists clenched.

The arena had been a string of islands in his year. He had successfully punched a mutated shark.

Vector was small fry compared to that.

* * *

 _(Please be careful.)_


	9. Chapter 9

_Don't pick fights._

* * *

The spring wedge was pretty, but Marion didn't trust it. She kept her eyes peeled. Someone else had to be here, surely.

Right now, though, it was getting late. Time to stop, she decided.

* * *

Leesha leaned back against one of the dying trees and started cleaning off her blade. So far they'd only found mutts to dirty them on, but that would change sooner or later. If Emma kept up the attitude, probably sooner.

Seph offered her a canteen. She took it with a smile, but she didn't drink the first time she raised it to her lips. Seph was her biggest rival here.

Then again, he was also the boy who had told Warren flat out that he was going to regret his latest "prank" before immediately punching him in the face. Poison probably wasn't his thing.

Above, the sky began to fill with faces.

Leesha drank.

* * *

The first night had passed peacefully. McGee had flinched at every sound. He'd spent his watch trying to come up with traps they could use. They still had that wire . . .

* * *

Caspian awoke with a start.

Susan withdrew her hand carefully. "All right?"

He drew in a deep breath and tried to wipe the sweat off his face. "Fine."

But the strange purple flashes from his dreams weren't as easily wiped away.

And when he breathed out, the curse spread.

* * *

Marion kept moving. Indy had to be somewhere.

* * *

Moth stopped eventually. Puck was gone. Of course he was. He was always gone when the consequences came. He was still such a _child_.

She had made excuses for him. Waited for him.

But this world had no more room for children. Their people needed better than a laugh disappearing on the wind. _She_ needed better. Deserved better.

For a moment, the wind tasted like ashes. Then it disappeared in the far more familiar taste of outraged bile and the burning breaths of air frozen cold.

* * *

Kate stretched as she got up. "Anything?" she asked McGee.

"Noth- " He heard a faint rustling and froze.

Kate narrowed her eyes and rolled up into a crouch. She grabbed one of her knives.

McGee tried not to breathe.

* * *

Sorcerers didn't walk. They flew. When they had to look like they walked, they hovered.

For the first time in his life, Rhys touched the ground.

He was up again in a second.

But with each breath, it cost him more.

* * *

Marion heard something up ahead.

It might be Indy.

And if it wasn't, then it might be a source of supplies.

She grabbed a fallen branch and crept on.

* * *

Indy prepared the nets he had and started making more. Hopefully he could catch some game.

* * *

Kate waved her hand at McGee. He scuttled back.

She made her way forward. She let her eyes flick to her bracelet once for luck.

* * *

Terence ghosted toward the fall wedge, eyes wary. A rabbit didn't even notice him as he passed by a foot away. Gawain would be proud.

He blinked the purple flashes from his eyes.

* * *

Marion could see flashes of unnatural color through the trees. She gripped her branch tighter.

* * *

There wasn't much water in the summer wedge, but Gilbert had known there had to be some.

And he had found it.

The stream was shallow, but it was one step closer to Anne.

It was too dirty here, but if he followed it toward fall . . .

* * *

A girl sprang out of the trees. She swung a branch at Kate's head.

Kate leaped forward. The branch clipped her shoulder.

She hit the other girl hard. They both fell.

Kate stabbed her knife down.

* * *

Will hadn't slept. He couldn't sleep. Every time he tried, the wolves got closer, and there was no one here to watch his back.

But he was being watched all the same.

* * *

The branch was pinned. Marion let it go. She grabbed the other girl's wrist. She forced it up. Her nails drew blood.

Pain exploded in her nose. The other girl drew back her fist for another punch. "McGee!"

Marion spit in her face. She tried to thrash free. Her knee connected with the other girl's stomach.

* * *

Someone had screamed.

Ava looked at him, eyes wide.

Jack gripped his new staff tighter and smiled at her. "Come on. Let's play a game."

He could only protect one person in this arena.

* * *

McGee was scrambling forward, but Kate was rolling now, her and the other girl, a hopelessly tangled ball of fury.

Kate jerked her hand free of the other girl's grip. Blood dripped down her wrist.

She stabbed down. And down.

And down.

* * *

Max took a long drink. Marcus blinked. "Oh, dear."

The cannon boomed through the speakers.

* * *

Abby flinched.

Tony let out a long breath. "She made it."

Gibbs gave them both a quick squeeze on the shoulder. All he said was, "McGee needs to be quicker."

"Didn't we all," Tony muttered. "Think Kate'll be alright?"

On the screen, Kate had pulled out her knife and stalked over to the edge of the clearing to sit down. She was breathing heavily, but she didn't cry.

"As alright as any of us are," Gibbs said. "Abbs, get ready. In two hours when this airs, the phones'll start ringing."

"Time to play the sponsors," Abby agreed, bobbing her head. "I'll have the paperwork ready."

"The Games never stop," Tony said quietly as she left.

And Gibbs said under his breath, "Not yet."

* * *

 _(You may not win.)_


	10. Chapter 10

_You can't change fate._

* * *

In the Dark Days, magic had ripped through the world like the Wolf's claws through prey. Time itself had waited in the cracks.

And Puck had fallen through.

He'd fallen in and then he'd fought his way out. He'd kept his mouth shut about what he'd seen, but he hadn't forgotten. He'd never forgotten. That was why -

That was why a lot of things, actually.

And not all of those were things he was proud of.

* * *

The deer was too good a chance to pass up. Terence raised his bow.

Impossibly, she heard him. She darted away.

Terence chased after her.

He blinked the lavender sparks from his eyes and didn't notice that the grass never bent where the deer stood.

* * *

Indy kept grimly weaving traps. He set them in a line by the banks of the stream. They covered the banks of most of the stream now. He couldn't replicate the barbs from the Capital nets, but that was alright. He didn't need to.

Weaving the nets helped keep Marion off his mind.

* * *

The water was higher now, but there was still too much silt in it. Gilbert kept following it and drew his jacket closer. It was cooler in the fall wedge.

* * *

It took Susan a moment to realize she had woken up. The whole world seemed hazy.

It was noon. She shouldn't have been asleep in the first place.

Something was wrong. Her blood itched with it, but there was nothing she could do.

She squared her shoulders for her siblings' sake and got back to the business of staying alive.

* * *

The deer ran faster than any mortal deer could, like the one Terence and Gawain had chased to the Other World.

Terence ran after it, faerie fast, and obeyed the call of the hunt in his blood.

* * *

Will jumped every time he heard a noise. He wasn't quite sure of what wedge he was in now. His own breath sounded loud in his ears. His head pounded like an executioner's drum.

He thought he had killed some more of the wolves. He might have imagined it.

Sleep. He needed sleep.

* * *

The water finally cleared. Gilbert knelt on the carpet of leaves and used his hands to bring water to his mouth. He had nothing to hold it while he heated it to purify it, so he'd just have to hope it was safe.

* * *

Ava nestled her head into Jack's shoulder. She felt safe, being carried like this. It was nice.

"Do you think it hurts to die?" she asked.

Jack's grip on her legs tightened. "Let's not find out. Not until we're as old as - as old as - "

"North," she suggested.

He laughed. "As old as North," he agreed. "Older, even."

* * *

Terence fired. The arrow streaked through the air and -

It must have hit. It must have. It was a perfect shot, but the deer kept running, and Terence did too.

The purple haze was thick around his eyes, but his legs were fine, and he ran like no mortal could.

* * *

Kate twisted the bracelet Tony had given her around her wrist. McGee looked at her nervously. "You all right, Kate?"

"I'm fine." She tried to smile.

It didn't come out quite right.

* * *

Gilbert didn't have to keep moving now that he had water, but there was nothing else to do. He kept following the stream.

* * *

Darcy had been right. When it had come down to it, he had killed someone.

Not even thoughts of Jane could distract Bingley from that.

* * *

Terence was close now. So close. He drew back his bowstring again.

The deer leaped over a running stream. It had nowhere else to go.

As soon as it was over running water, it vanished.

Directly behind where it had been, he saw a boy on the opposite bank. Unarmed. Eyes widening.

It was too late not to shoot, but he jerked his bow wide. The shot went wild. The other boy flinched to the left even so.

A net sprang up the second the boy's foot landed. Green vines nearly obscured him from view.

Instinct propelled Terence forward to help.

Too fast. He missed the wire under his feet until a net was yanking him into the air. Barbs dug into his skin when he tried to twist. His bow was pushed against his face. He could barely twitch, let alone reach an arrow.

The shaking in the other net ceased, establishing that the other boy had no better luck.

"Well," the other boy said at last, "this is awkward."

Terence's lips twitched. "That's one word for it." His arm was twisted behind him. He tried to move it and winced when the barbs held him fast. "We might as well introduce ourselves if we're going to be neighbors. I'm Terence."

The other boy laughed. "Gilbert. Any ideas for getting out of here?"

"That depends. How much does your sponsor like you?"

* * *

Ella was hungry. Hungrier than she'd ever been before.

But there was nothing here to eat.

* * *

In the Dark Days, Puck had seen the future. He had known what would happen to Connoire before the Reaping ever happened. He knew what would happen to Moth. He knew what would happen to Terence.

Now he hesitated at the edge of his wedge.

If he was going to use his knowledge, he had to survive this. If he was going to help the Grimms, he had to survive this. If he was going home, he had to survive this.

But it wasn't too late to change Terence's fate. Not yet.

Puck stood at the edge of the woods and argued with himself.

* * *

 _(Unless you're willing to try.)_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Warnings for mind control and coerced suicide.**

* * *

 _Do not meddle with the fey._

* * *

 **Day Four**

* * *

Morgan was used to ice. She had never seen it in a human quite the way it was in Anne.

Like a glacier about to break into pieces.

"We need a way to either cut through a branch or break it," Anne said, dumping an armful of datapads and phones for sponsors at Morgan's table. "Ideally, we need two, but we'll probably end up having to settle for one and hoping one of the boys helps the other."

Morgan leaned back. "My sponsorship numbers are better than yours," she pointed out. "The majority of the money will come from my funds."

She left the implication dangling.

Anne didn't flinch. "Let's get the funds first."

"Argue the logistics later," Morgan agreed. "I'll call my contacts."

* * *

Ella didn't know how far she'd wandered in the search for food. She'd been walking since yesterday.

There was still no food. The trees had changed from lush to dying. Food was probably not going to be forthcoming.

She tripped over a tree root. She sat for a moment, glaring at her too small feet.

"If one has to have a drop of faerie blood, one would think it would be good for something," she mumbled, before pushing herself back up.

She kept walking. Mandy always said there was no use pouting over a broken glass.

Thinking of Mandy was a mistake. Thinking of Mandy made her think of Mandy's cooking - fresh baked bread with a hint of butter, stew simmering over the stove, small cakes as a very special treat . . .

Ella's stomach growled.

"Good morning," a high voice said from behind her.

Ella spun. Emma stood behind her, smiling like Sir Peter was always telling Ella to. Her knives were nowhere near as harmless as Mandy's.

"Good morning," Ella answered carefully. Slowly, slowly, she stepped away and prayed her feet wouldn't fail her now.

"You found a polite one," another voice - Leesha, that one was called Leesha - said from behind her. Her voice was an amused purr. "The boys will be sorry they missed all the fun."

She had been ordered not to run. She would not be able to run.

Not for long.

She took a few fast, jerking steps to the left. Every cell in her body screamed for her to stop. Her legs burned with the need. Her body tore at her, legs pulling away from her frantically beating heart -

"Oh, stop," Leesha said from behind her. She sounded amused. She and Emma weren't even running yet.

Ella stopped.

"Huh. Didn't think that would actually work." Leesha walked forward. One hand held a knife. The other was twisting something in the air that Ella could barely see.

Magic?

Emma was tenser. Both hands were ready on her knives.

Ella snatched a branch from the ground and held it in front of her. "Stay back." She tried to make her voice firm. A warning.

Leesha squinted at her. "You've got a spell on you. A binding." A light dawned in her eyes. "Put the branch down, Ella."

Ella's arms trembled. The branch shook.

Emma frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. She's not going to - "

The branch dropped.

Leesha let out a delighted laugh. "I don't even need a compulsion on you. Aren't you fun? Like a little wind-up toy. You're even more helpless than most Anaweir."

Emma stiffened at that. Ella thought frantically. She didn't know what an Anaweir was, but if there was a division between them, maybe -

"Get on with it," Emma said tightly. "The boys will be wondering where we are. If you won't finish it, I will."

"I am not an it to be finished," Ella hissed out through her dry mouth.

Leesha sighed. "You take all the fun out of everything." She paused, as if considering something. Then the smile came back. "Don't kill me, Ella. Don't hurt me either."

Ella was hardly in a position to do either.

"Take my knife, Ella."

Ella spat at her, dry mouth or no.

Leesha just kept smiling. "Take it now." She held it out.

Ella's hand snatched out and grabbed it.

"Leesha . . . " Emma's voice was uncomfortable.

"Kill yourself, Ella."

Ella raised the knife. Her hands shook with the effort to keep it away from her chest.

She didn't have to do this. She could break the curse. She was stronger than the curse. She had to be stronger than the curse.

The knife inched closer.

Her arms burned with the effort. It felt like her wrists would rip themselves off her arms with the strain.

She gritted her teeth and refused to beg.

The cannon boomed.

* * *

Myrtle stared at the screen.

She had told Ella not to run. She had ordered her not to run.

Addie wouldn't have made a stupid mistake like that. Addie would have figured it out.

But Addie wasn't here.

* * *

Hastings was a hard man. He had to be.

But another sadistic wizard was the last thing their district needed. Any residual guilt for choosing his son over his tribute was gone.

* * *

" . . . And she's hated me ever since," Gilbert concluded. it was the first time he'd ever had to explain his relationship with Anne to anyone. Hatred might not be quite the right word for it at this point, but the Capital really didn't need to know that. "Tell me your mentor likes you better."

"I don't know about 'likes,'" Terence said thoughtfully. "She's questioned my sanity more than once. I'm friends with her favorite nephew though, and I outrank her by several degrees, so she feels a bit of an obligation."

"Outrank?" Gilbert tried to shift around. The net just shook a bit around him.

"Hmm." Terence was silent for a minute before he asked, almost playfully, "Do you believe in faeries?"

Anne's stories flashed through his mind. The constant dryness in his mouth suddenly got worse. He gave up on trying to swallow and asked, "Does believing in faeries get me out of here?"

"It might help you get on Morgan's good side." Terence sounded amused. "She gets offended when people don't, which isn't quite fair. She's not even a half-faerie."

"Then for Miss Morgan's sake, yes. I believe in faeries. And magic. And anything else she pleases. And I believe wholeheartedly in every last one of your stories, Anne."

"Stories?" Terence sounded interested. His voice didn't have the same dry crack to it that Gilbert's did.

The air burned his mouth when he opened it. "Maybe you should be the one to talk for a while."

Terence seemed to understand immediately. "Since he's not here to kill me for it, allow me to tell you about the first time Gawain met my sister."

* * *

Puck knew what his rulers (parents) would say about fighting fate. They would not have approved this course of action.

But he had decided to try and change things a long time ago, and he'd never been one for following orders.

He knew what would happen, but not where. For that, he'd have to track a very old scent.

Puck spun on his heel and turned into a faerie hound.

* * *

 **Day Five**

* * *

The money was barely enough, but it would cover a weighted iron cauldron, the heaviest thing in the catalog of things mentors could buy. It was cheaper than most things due to its relative uselessness. No tribute could lug the thing around for long.

The projections suggested it would break either of the branches holding the boys up. They just had to hope that it wouldn't break the boy's back as well. Morgan did _not_ want to have to explain that to Ganscotter.

Morgan leaned forward and smiled at the tech. "I'd appreciate it if you could set this down very _precisely_."

The tech gulped.

* * *

McGee had been working on a wire trap for days now. It was finally complete. He stepped back to admire his good work.

Kate examined it doubtfully. "Are you sure about this, McGee? It doesn't look like it could hold anything up."

"Positive," he insisted. "If anyone gets too close to our camp, they'll get picked up by their ankle and hung by the tree."

"If anyone steps in precisely the right spot, you mean," Kate corrected.

McGee's eyebrows scrunched together. "Well . . . I'll work on that."

Kate sighed. "Come on, McGeek."

"Don't call me that!"

He followed her anyway. He didn't have much choice. Besides, he was thirsty, and she was headed toward that stream they'd found.

Still, he let himself trail behind a bit, and he kicked the grass petulantly. The trap was a good idea. Just because Kate didn't like it didn't mean it was a bad idea. No one ever liked his ideas, but they always worked. Well, almost always.

He couldn't see Kate through the trees anymore, but he could hear her stomping forward. He stopped pouting and tried to make his face look mature in case there were cameras watching and sponsors were trying to decide between them.

He wasn't useless. He knew Kate thought he was, but he really wasn't. He could do things. He had a real shot at winning these Games.

Something rustled a few yards away. McGee froze.

He could run. He could run and catch up to Kate.

But. But he could do things. Hadn't he just been saying that? If he could just prove himself -

He pulled out the knife Kate had given him and crept forward. He winced at the faint sounds of his footfalls. Life in the districts had not prepared him for a mountainous forest.

There. Beneath one of the trees. There were a few branches that were still falling into place like someone had just passed through them.

And there on the ground was the boy from Twelve. Sleeping. Something faintly purple trickled out of his mouth. His sword lay a few feet away from him.

What was that purple stuff?

Whoever had left could be back any minute. McGee crept closer. He carefully kicked the sword away. His toes stung from the effort.

"McGee!" Kate's voice was distant, but panic made it sharp.

The boy's eyes shot open. He flung his hand out for his sword.

McGee panicked. He flung himself at the boy like Kate had done in her fight and stabbed the knife down.

The blade connected. Purple smoke sprayed out of the wound and into McGee's eyes.

The boy was moving. Hitting. Striking. McGee kept stabbing down.

There was more, he knew, more happening, but - The smoke. The smoke felt heavy and sweet around him. It was hard to think clearly around it.

A cannon boomed. The fog started to clear a bit.

"McGee?" Kate's voice was closer now.

The bushes rustled. The girl from Twelve burst onto the scene. An arrow was ready on her bow.

McGee pushed himself to his feet. Something hot and sticky covered his hands. The knife felt weightless in his hands.

"Caspian!"

The purple fog was coming from the girl too. McGee swayed as he stepped forward.

Kate's footsteps were audible now. They came to an abrupt stop. The girl released the arrow.

McGee fell.

"McGee!"

He stared hazily down at the arrow in his chest. What had it hit . . . ?

Kate's footsteps didn't run towards him. They ran away. The girl from Twelve bolted after her.

The cannon boomed.

* * *

Abby let out a muffled sob. Gibbs closed his eyes.

Tony's eyes were wet, but they stayed locked on the screen. "That's right, Kate," he whispered. "Keep running. There's nothing you could have done for him. Just keep running."

* * *

Faeries were hardier than humans, but even Terence was finding it hard to talk now. Gilbert hadn't talked all day. He would have worried that the other boy had died if he hadn't been certain he would have heard the cannon.

Something glinted, even through the veil of the net. Terence tilted his head up to look at it, ignoring the barbs that tore lines into his face.

The largest silver parachute he had ever seen glided down. Something huge and black tugged it down faster than any gift had fallen before.

Terence's eyes widened. It was getting closer - closer -

It crashed to the forest floor two feet from Terence.

It was a cauldron.

Terence stared at it for a long moment. A slightly hysterical laugh tore out of his throat.

"Gilbert?" he called weakly. "Does a cast iron cauldron mean anything to you?"

* * *

Puck had caught the scent. He ran through the forest like he was leading a hunt as he had in the old days.

Stronger. The scent was getting stronger.

Just not strong enough.

* * *

 **Day Six**

* * *

It had taken Morgan a while to track down the tech again. It seemed he had been avoiding her.

"Hello, there." She smiled at him again. It was not the same smile she had used yesterday.

The tech backed away. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but President Snow said - "

She kept smiling. "Do you know what I am?"

"A - A victor?"

"And do you know why I'm a victor?"

The tech had run out of room to back up. "Because you're a very good fighter?" he squeaked.

"Because I'm an enchantress," she corrected. "Because I'm an undecided enchantress who has not chosen either of the courts to follow. Do you know what that means?"

"N-no." The tech shook like a leaf in a hurricane.

She leaned very, very close. "It means I'll avenge Terence, and that I'm allowed to use an Unseelie curse."

* * *

Indy knew he should go back and check his traps. He knew that was the whole point of them.

But he'd caught some rabbits in one close by, so he wasn't hurting for food, and going back to places he'd clearly marked with his presence made him nervous.

He kept moving.

* * *

"Gilbert?" The words were quiet. Barely more than a garbled croak.

Dried blood coated what felt like every inch of him. If there was a drop of moisture left in his throat, Terence couldn't feel it. The stream rushed mockingly past him, just out of reach.

Gilbert didn't answer. The sun baked down on both of them. He tried again.

"Gilbert!"

This time, a cannon answered.

Terence's head slumped. The barbs dug deeper into his parched skin.

* * *

Puck was racing over the ground now. He was close. He was so close -

He heard the cannon boom. He moved faster.

He leaped over the waiting nets, past the trees, over the brambles -

There. Two nets, hanging in the trees. One, made of vines, was being lifted by a claw.

The other still hung. Terence hung inside, barely recognizable.

Puck _growled_.

He spun again, and it was in his usual form that he moved forward. "Terence?"

The figure inside the net lifted his head. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

Puck scrambled up the tree until he got to the branch holding the net. He turned his fingers to claws and began sawing through the branch. "His royal highness to the rescue," he said with forced levity. "If you could please wait momentarily."

The branch fell. The net hit the ground with a sick thump.

Puck sprang after it. He tore the net open, ignoring the welts it tore into his hands.

The net jerked sickeningly as the barbs tore out of Terence. The other boy's mouth drifted open again, but there wasn't even a whisper of sound, and the movement was too slow. His eyes were sunken into his head.

Puck stumbled to the stream and filled his hands with water. He poured it desperately into Terence's mouth.

"I'm breaking the rules," he said frantically. "Come on, Terence, come on - "

Terence gagged the second the water hit his mouth. His body flailed weakly.

Too far. Too far gone. Puck knew that look. He'd seen it in travelers lost in the woods too many times not to know that look. There was only one thing short of Capital medicine that could save Terence now.

He needed to go home. To the Other World.

He didn't have time to shift shapes again. He grabbed the other boy by the armpits and dragged him into the stream. He refused to wince at the sound of the barbs tearing loose of his skin.

Normally, pathways to the Other World were available only at certain places, at certain times, normally in waterways.

Puck was a Seelie prince. He could open a pathway where he chose, as long as no other power prevented it.

"Open!" he shouted.

The water started to swirl together. He could feel the Capital's stolen magic pressing against it, but it wasn't as strong as it was in the district. Something had worn it away.

"Open!" he shouted again. Terence shuddered in the water behind him.

A hint of a portal started to break open.

A shimmer of purple magic sealed it close.

"No! Open, now!" Puck raged against the Unseelie magic. He was changing things. He could change fate, change the way the coming war ended, he could do this -

The cannon boomed.

The prince of all Seelie _screamed._ The water of the stream shook with the power of it.

Terence, the Duke of Avalon, was dead.

Puck dragged him back out of the water. The Capital would want to take him. They would send his body back eventually, but not until they had drained every last bit of his blood. There were all sorts of things you could do with a faerie's blood.

Most people wouldn't think you could burn a corpse still dripping water while lacking accelerants or even a match.

Puck was of the Summer Court. He knew all about fire.

Terence burned. Puck waited beside him until the pyre was done, caring nothing for the pillar of smoke. Let them come. It was not his fate to die here, and fate would be only reluctantly defied.

When Terence was nothing but bones, he let the fire die and spun again until he was once more a hound.

There was a third scent along these banks. A mortal who had dared to kill a fey.

The Seelie Court was infinitely kinder than the Unseelie Court. Infinitely more merciful.

But then, compared to the Unseelie Court, burning at the stake was kind.

* * *

Anne shattered and wept.

The realms of faerie trembled.

* * *

 _(The Games are always full of fey. They do not always win. Meddle carefully, and only when you must.)_


	12. Chapter 12

_Never assume you're safe._

* * *

The scent would have been too faint for a normal hound.

But Puck was not a normal hound, and to him the scent called like fresh blood.

* * *

Puck was gone. She had lost him. Moth let out a shriek of frustration.

She took a deep, trembling breath and snarled at the taste of it.

Magic. Unseelie magic. The mask that had hidden it had finally been ripped away.

The nails on her hands lengthened to claws.

She wanted to kill something. Anything.

The snow steamed around her. She stalked back the way she'd come.

Back to the Cornucopia.

* * *

Lack of supplies had driven them back to the Cornucopia. Seph checked the web around it. There were no tributes in it, but there were a handful of stones. Someone had been testing the defenses.

He dismantled the charm so that they could get to the food. The stones clattered down.

"Hastings must be proud," Leesha murmured from beside him.

Seph tried to turn his jump into a more natural turn. "It was nothing."

Leesha raised her eyebrows. "Not many wizards could say the same." Her eyes wandered over to where Bingley and Emma were pulling out food for lunch. "The Anaweir certainly couldn't."

Seph frowned. "What happened between you and Emma? You've been snapping at each other since - Since you got back."

Since you killed Ella, he carefully didn't say.

"Nothing," Leesha said tightly. "She's just testing her stomach for the Games."

That didn't really clear up anything, but Seph wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. He nodded like he knew what she meant and went to grab some of the crackers Bingley had found.

"Shame there's no sandwiches," Emma said with forced lightness. "We could have ourselves a proper picnic on the lawn."

Bingley perked up a little. "Jane enjoys those. I'd promised her one for the day after Reaping Day."

"She must be disappointed you volunteered, then," Leesha said, sitting on his other side.

Bingley froze in the midst of opening a package. "Actually, I - Oh. Er. Yes, of course."

Seph raised an eyebrow. _That_ had been convincing. Just how many Reapings did the Capital rig?

Emma's eyes were locked on the winter wedge of the forest. "Think of all the sights you'd have missed if you hadn't."

Seph got the message and carefully turned to look. Something was just visible through the trees. He gathered his magic -

A girl that barely looked human burst from the trees. A ball of fire grew in her hand.

Seph threw himself to the side. The fire shot past him -

Right to where Bingley still sat.

Bingley screamed. Emma's shriek came only a second later. Leesha was scrambling to her feet, but she wouldn't be fast enough. The fire was growing in the girl's hands enough.

Seph shouted a spell. The girl was flung back against a tree. The tree groaned. She sprang to her feet and hissed.

Emma sent a knife hurtling through the air. Leesha was shouting something.

They'd have to keep her off. Seph envisioned a circle and started to run. The gray threads of a shield sprang up behind him as the hastily murmured words fells from his lips.

The next fireball crashed into gray gossamer and dissipated. The girl screamed in rage.

Leesha cut off the spell she'd been preparing. "Well done."

The girl was throwing more fire. It was harder to keep it up while it was under attack. "Check on Bingley," he said, voice strained. "I'll keep her off till she gets bored."

"Or till we're ready to fight," Leesha said.

Emma hurried over to Bingley.

The cannon answered before she could.

* * *

Moth stalked around the protective circle. Would _nothing_ go her way in here?

Something rustled in the trees nearby. Someone drawn to the outburst of magic, perhaps?

Moth ghosted closer. Rhys carefully peered around the tree.

"Hello, little sorcerer," she purred.

Rhys ran.

He did not run fast enough.

* * *

Puck heard the second cannon follow the first. Since neither was for his quarry, he didn't care.

He was close now. Very close. Even through the Unseelie magic trying to blind him, he could sense that.

There.

Henry Jones the second was taking a drink from the stream.

Puck sprang.

Terence had lingered three days. His killer lasted three hours.

Puck was careful to work in the shade of the trees where no light of the cameras could reach. The Grimms wouldn't thank him if he made Daphne watch this.

When the cannon boomed, he shifted back to human form and went to wash off in the stream.

* * *

Max took a long drink. Myrtle closed her eyes.

Darcy excused himself tightly and hurried out of the room. He needed the privacy of his own chambers to deal with this.

The sitting room was quiet.

A dozen white roses waited on the table.

 _My condolences,_ the note read.

Darcy flung them across the room.

* * *

 _(From the moment you're born to the moment you die, you are never safe.)_


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: And now, the chapter you've all been waiting for - the one that brings the number down to the final eight.**

* * *

 _The arena will mess with your mind. You have to think clearly despite this._

* * *

Jack adjusted a shivering Ava on his back. On the one hand, he was reluctant to head into the winter wedge. He had too many bad memories of empty cupboards and a desperately coughing little sister. On the other hand, just down the slope he could see the bright glint of sunlight on ice that meant there was a pond in there. It was a ways in - the bare trees let him see a good distance - but they could easily make it that far, and they needed the water.

He could leave Ava out here. She was smaller than he was, and she wouldn't hold up to the cold as well.

But that would be dangerous too, and as long as they didn't linger here, it should be fine.

"The snow's so pretty," Ava whispered. "It isn't muddy at all."

It wasn't soot stained either. The perfect snow was reassuring. It meant no one had been here to stir it up. That was another thing they'd have to be careful of; his footprints would be fully visible. The sun was already low in the sky though. Maybe the long shadows would help disguise the prints.

"We need to get that water," he told her in a low voice, just in case there was something around to hear. "If anyone comes by, they'll see my footprints but they won't know about you. That makes you our secret weapon."

Ava nodded solemnly against his shoulder.

Jack adjusted his grip on his makeshift staff and headed in.

* * *

Caspian was dead. Susan's thoughts kept circling back to that moment.

Caspian was dead, and Susan had killed someone. The thoughts echoed around in her head, surprisingly distant.

She had lost the girl she'd run after. Part of her was glad of that. What was she supposed to do if she caught up, after all?

The boy's body drifted through her head in answer.

She let out a long, shuddering breath. For a moment, the air gleamed purple in front of her. She pressed a hand over her mouth.

Something was wrong. She'd known that for a while, but Caspian's death made it more urgent. There was something inside her that kept wanting her to lay down and give up. Something that was trying to carve up bits of her until it was the only thing left.

She curled her hands tighter around her bow.

Lucy. Edmund. Peter.

She had to make it back. She was stronger than this. She could beat it. It wasn't a rational enemy. It was just a feeling.

 _Magic,_ something in her whispered.

She shoved it aside. Now was no time for childish superstitions.

* * *

Robin watched Will stumble across the snow on the screen. "If he doesn't get some rest soon, he's going to do something stupid."

"Sleeping in the snow might not be the best idea either," Tuck pointed out.

Robin watched Will jump and strike out at a shadow and flinched himself. The sponsorship numbers were still too low to send anything in. "Snow's keeping the mutts at the edges. Close enough to hear but not close enough to fight. He's trying to herd him somewhere. Pull up the map. Check where he's headed."

Tuck complied. "There's a frozen pond up ahead," he offered. "He could get some water there - Ah."

Robin glanced at the screen. Two beeping dots that indicated tributes were already there.

Not good.

* * *

Kate leaned against a tree and tried, once again, to scrub the image of McGee with an arrow in him out of her head.

What had happened? What had he been _thinking?_

She kept her face steady though. She needed food, and if Tony was going to get her sponsors, she couldn't be seen crying on screen.

As if in response, a parachute came beeping down. She snagged it from the air.

Crackers. Those could keep her going for a while. She must have more sponsors than she thought if Tony could afford these.

"Thanks, Tony."

* * *

Jack set Ava down in the middle of a tangle of dead bushes she could crouch behind. "Keep an eye out," he told her before going to check on the pond.

The ice was thin. That would make it easier to break through, at least, but it would mean he'd have to get some from close to the edge of the pool. He'd just have to hope it was clean.

He hit the ice with his staff. It started to crack.

* * *

Will could hear them growling. They were close. So close.

He wouldn't let them get him. Not like -

Will dry heaved at the memory. Not like that. His stomach twisted hollowly. How long had it been since he'd eaten? He needed to eat. Needed to -

The moment he slowed down, he heard the mutts' growls get closer.

Keep going. He had to - had to keep going. Like Robin always kept going, no matter what.

He could see a pond up ahead. Maybe that would help. He'd had water already today, but more would be good. Maybe he could slow down for just a second. Maybe -

"There!"

The high pitched shriek didn't register as a word. Something jumped out of the bushes and lunged forward.

More mutts, more mutts, why were there always more mutts -

He stumbled back frantically and swung his staff down at the neck. Only way to kill them. Had to hit the neck.

The blow connected with the skull. He swung again. The mutt went down.

A cannon boomed.

Cannon?

Someone was shouting. He looked down.

Not a mutt. A . . . girl. A little one that had never had a chance to win.

Like Rowan.

His mouth dropped open. A keening sound crept out of it.

"Ava! Ava!"

Ava.

He looked up. Another boy with a staff . . . Jack . . . was almost there. His staff was raised. His face was twisted. Angry. Horrified. Tears spilling down his cheeks.

Will took another step back. "I - I didn't mean to. I thought - "

Jack swung wildly with his staff. Will twisted around it and took another step back. His back was to the pond now.

"I'm sorry - I didn't - "

"You killed her," Jack spat. "She was twelve years old, and you _killed_ her!" He swung again.

Will managed to knock it off course. The stroke still hit his shoulder hard enough to bruise. "I'm sorry!"

Not good enough. Never good enough.

The last ray of sunlight glimmered on the ice. Jack grabbed his staff with both hands and tried to shove Will onto it.

Just like home, Will thought distantly. Just like in training.

So just like in training, he stepped to the left - Swung his staff at his opponent's knees -

At home, he would have knocked Robin off balance.

Jack was shorter than Robin. Half-starved, which Robin was not.

Jack went flying onto the thin sheet of cracked ice and landed hard.

The ice broke.

Jack's panicked face was visible for just a moment before he went tumbling into the dark water.

Will scrambled forward. This happened in the forest sometimes, in winter. Jack was already reaching up, one pale hand above water. He just had to extend his staff and keep his weight spread. Pull him out bit by bit.

* * *

Seneca Crane zoomed in on the fight. "Is he actually trying to save the other boy?" he asked incredulously.

"It appears so, sir," one of the techs said nervously.

"Well, that won't do," he murmured. For one thing, it sent entirely the wrong message. For another, President Snow had been quite clear that Will was not to emerge the victor from these Games, and Crane had been progressing in that goal nicely until now. A potential ally to help keep Will sane would meddle with his plans unnecessarily.

"Activate the trap."

* * *

Jack grabbed the staff and started to pull himself up. The second his head cleared the water, he gulped in as much air as he could get.

The water beneath him started to spin.

He lost his grip on the staff immediately. The whirlpool knocked him into the jagged edges of the hole in the ice. He bobbed beneath the surface.

Ice began to spread over his head.

 _No!_ He swam frantically for the surface. A skin of ice had already formed over the hole.

And it was thickening.

He'd lost hold of his staff ages ago. He pounded against the ice with his fists. Above him, he could see Will's staff pounding the ice above him.

 _Why would he bother?_

Jack didn't know.

His lungs _burned_.

* * *

"No, no, no, no - " With every denial, Will's staff pounded the ice. Cracks stubbornly refused to appear.

He hadn't meant meant to kill Ava. He couldn't kill Jack. He didn't want to kill anyone, he wasn't a murderer, he _wasn't -_

Jack's fist stopped pounding the ice. The pale shape he could only just see slowly fell away.

"No," he breathed.

The cannon boomed.

* * *

"Oh, Jack!" Tears were streaming freely down Toothiana's face.

North bowed his head. "He fought bravely."

Bunny just stared blankly at the screen. Both of them. They'd lost both of the tykes, just like that. He hadn't had a chance to make up for any of it. They were just - gone.

He had failed. Again.

Sandy patted his arm gently. He was sniffing into a handkerchief of dream dust.

It had been a long time since Bunny had felt this small.

* * *

The moon was high in the sky before Will remembered he had to move away. He had to move away so that the hovercraft could come.

He stumbled away towards the trees. He could sleep in one of those tonight. If the mutts got him, they got him.

He climbed up to a thick branch and huddled near the trunk. He pulled his jacket tighter around him. It kept the heat in well. Just not quite well enough.

 _Beep. Beep._

A parachute landed on the branch in front of him. Will slowly unfurled himself just enough to grab it.

There was a square of cloth attached. He unfolded it to reveal a silvery sheet of material. A heat reflective blanket.

Will wrapped himself up in it like it was cocoon and tried to take comfort in the warmth.

* * *

The phone was still ringing off the hook. The sponsorship numbers were better than they'd been for the last three Games.

Robin stared at the number in disgust. The editing for today's events had made the deaths seem a lot more ruthless than they were. It seemed people suddenly thought Will was a good bet after all.

Marian rubbed his shoulders comfortingly. "It got us what we needed," she reminded him.

"There's nothing we can send him that will fix this," Robin said, quietly enough that he hoped the bugs couldn't hear. "Nothing fixes this."

But the blanket would keep him alive through the night. In the Games, that was the best anyone could do.

* * *

The claw descended and retrieved Ava. It descended again and punched through the ice of the pond. It scraped the bottom for a second before happening to catch both Jack and his staff. Both were white with frost.

The moon shone down on the corpse.

 _The boy had done well. He had tried his best to defend the girl. He had died trying to see justice done for her._

 _And if the things were to change, the man in the moon needed a Guardian unbound by the Capital._

The claw pulled the boy inside. The techs dumped the body by the girl's.

 _The girl had been so brave. It pained him to let her go. But he only had the power to keep one._

The hovercraft landed. The techs carried the bodies out.

The last trace of Ava moved on to what waited.

The boy rolled off the cart. The staff went with him. The techs didn't notice the missing weapon.

The boy looked around. He saw two people wheeling two bodies away. He ran after them. "Hey, wait up! Who are you? Where are we? What's going on?"

His reaching hand went right through the tech he reached for.

And one of the bodies on the carts looked exactly like his reflection in the metal.

He stumbled to a halt and looked down at his shaking hands. "What am I?" he whispered. "Who am I?"

And the moon answered, _Jack Frost_.

* * *

 _(Thinking clearly in the arena is a pipe dream. Ask any victor.)_

 _(For that matter, ask any victor if they can think clearly_ now _.)_


	14. Chapter 14

_1\. Don't upset the reporters._

* * *

 **District Twelve. Interviews**

* * *

"Why did your sister volunteer for you?"

Lucy took a deep breath and tried to be brave like Peter had told her.

Edmund cut in before she could answer. "What kind of a question is that? Lucy's her little sister. Of course she volunteered."

"Edmund!" Lucy scolded. Peter said it was very important that they not upset the people from the Capital. "Susan is very brave. She and Peter have been looking out for us ever since our parents died." Her lip trembled. "Caspian helped when he could."

The reporter looked uncomfortable. She gestured for the cameraman to swing his equipment around to capture Peter. He was still covered in coal dust from working, but the cameras kept swinging back towards him anyway. Lucy wondered if it was for the same reason some of the girls giggled when they saw him passing on the street. "Well, if she wins, you'll be able to hire people to take over the childcare for you. What will you do with the new free time?"

Peter got the look on his face that he normally got when trying to resist the urge to start a brawl in the street. "We're a family," he said shortly. "We don't mind looking after each other."

Edmund did what he normally did when Peter got that look. He intervened. "He says that _now_ , but you should have seen him the time I dumped snow on his head right when he was about to kiss Alice Longtree. I've never seen his face so red in my _life_. Susan kept trying to scold me, but she kept breaking down and laughing halfway into her speech."

The cameras, sensing a good story, went to Edmund. Peter collected himself and tried to smile reassuringly at Lucy.

She gave him a worried smile right back and let her eyes drift back to the constantly playing television.

* * *

 _(Then again, they're easily distracted.)_

* * *

Susan walked through the trees. Purple mist kept trying to creep in on the edges of her vision, but she stubbornly walked through it.

She had scrubbed clothes through a raging fever to get money for their mother's medicine. She could fight through this.

* * *

 _2\. Relationships are a weakness. Hide them from the Capital._

* * *

 **Capital. Interviews for District Seven.**

* * *

"So Will's actually your cousin?"

Robin nodded and put on his most charming smile. "That's right. He's always had a bit of a temper, I'm afraid, but it's serving him well in the Games."

Robin hadn't even seen that temper in the Games, but it suited the narrative they were trying to spin. The reporters ate it up.

"Give us an example."

Robin leaned back. "Well, back home, there was this one time when he was still just a slip of a thing that I made the mistake of insulting his hat. Naturally, he took offense and decided the only thing to be done was to fight me. I was a newly crowned victor at the time, fresh from the Games. He was four." He paused for effect. "I still have a scar on my knee from that fight."

* * *

 _(Once they're in the Games, admitting it can't hurt.)_

* * *

Will didn't want to fight anymore. He didn't even want to fight the Capital. He just wanted to go home to the forest and curl up with a cup of Robin's soup and never come out.

But he wasn't home. He was in the arena, and even with the blanket he was getting too cold.

He didn't want to move. He wanted to stay where he was and freeze like Jack had under all that ice.

But he wanted to make Robin proud. And if he was going to do that, he was going to have to move.

In the distance, the mutts howled.

* * *

 _3\. Remember that this is about the tribute, not about you._

* * *

 **Capital. Interviews for District Five.**

* * *

Tony leaned back in his chair until the back hit the wall. The phone was on speaker in front of him. "So you've talked to her sister and both her parents."

 _"That's right. Who else should we talk to? We're not having much luck tracking down her friends."_

Tony winced. Friends had been hard to come by for Kate after the power incident with McGee. "Well, she was always close to McGee, but that's not going to work." They needed a more sympathetic angle. Something to drum up more interest. "I'm afraid most of the kids at school were jealous of her," he said confidingly.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows from across the room. Tony gave him his best "innocent" smile.

 _"Jealous?"_

"What with her being such close friends with a victor and all," Tony continued earnestly. "Despite the age gap, Kate and I have always been good friends." Well, Tony liked _her._ Kate probably considered him a minor irritant.

The reporter took the bait. _"We'll just have to interview you then!"_ she gushed.

Tony let a wide, satisfied grin escape. "I'm sure we can work something out. Gibbs can monitor the feeds for me, and I can tell you about how she beat the champion of the boys' wrestling team. Twice."

Reporters could never wait to get back to the Capital, and they never turned down the chance to talk with him. Audiences loved the patented DiNozzo charm, and they were on a strictly rationed supply of it since Gibbs normally kept the reporters off with a glare that Tony bet gave even Snow nightmares.

Give an interview, stir up even more enthusiasm for Kate, get her more sponsors.

Bring her home.

* * *

 _(It's about anything that will bring them home.)_

* * *

Kate needed a plan. Wandering around the arena without one felt like a good way to get killed.

She could try to head for the edge of the arena. Let the other tributes wear themselves out on each other. The strategy had worked well for Tony, and whatever else she might think of him, she had to respect a victor who had gotten through his Games as intact as he had.

Down the mountain for the edge of the arena it was.

* * *

 _4\. Don't spill district secrets._

* * *

 **District Four. The school.**

* * *

"So, Sabrina. Everyone says you and Puck are close. Is there a little romance brewing there?"

Sabrina felt her face turn a blotchy red. "I would rather kiss a mutt."

Daphne learned around her sister. "Puck kissed her once," she confided. "They're going to get married and have a hundred babies."

"And I punched him," Sabrina corrected hastily. "He kissed me as a prank, _and I punched him in the nose."_

Daphne continued happily. "And then she saved his life when - "

Sabrina slapped a hand over her sister's mouth. Daphne licked her. Sabrina gritted her teeth and kept her hand there anyway. "No one wants to hear that story."

The reporter leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, no, I'm sure our audiences would _love_ to hear that story."

Sabrina glared at her sister. "You weren't supposed to bring up any stories that involved the 'm' word," she hissed under breath.

Daphne's eyes went wide. "Oops."

Unfortunately, one of the reporters had ears like a bat. "M word?"

"Moth," Sabrina blurted. "We're not supposed to talk bad about Moth."

"Oh, we don't mind," the reporter assured her. "No one else has been willing to talk about her at all. Go right ahead."

Sabrina really, really wished she was allowed to use forgetful dust.

* * *

 _(Some of those secrets are pretty hard to hide.)_

* * *

Puck was starting to get - Not concerned, exactly. Extremely aware of, perhaps. Extremely aware of the Unseelie magic.

He could beat it, of course. He was a Seelie prince. He could beat anything!

But the circumstances were less than ideal. And it had occurred to him that even if he won, his ability to pay back his debts would be limited. The Capital would watch him more closely than ever.

. . . This probably should have occurred to him before, but he had always been a bit rash, at least according to his mother.

So he needed a way out, and he wasn't having any success opening a way through the water.

Which was why Puck was currently busy constructing a very poorly secured campfire.

Right in the middle of a clump of dead, dry trees.

* * *

 _5\. If a rumor stirs up interest, let it be._

* * *

 **Capital. Interviews for District Two.**

* * *

Seph's foster mother was dead. His closest friend, Jason, was also dead. The reporters had been forced to get creative, although admittedly, not all that creative.

"What do you have to say about the rumors that Seph is secretly your and Hastings' son?"

Linda laughed. "I know the tabloids loved us getting together all those years ago, but this is just desperate. I think it's time to accept that it's over."

"What about the photo matching software that has shown distinct similarities between Seph and - "

Linda interrupted with another laugh. "Obviously you don't know how things are in the districts. I'm sure Hastings and Seph _are_ related, somehow. We're all related out there. Some genes, like the ones for Hastings' eyes, are just too good not to get used again."

"Where is Hastings?"

"Interviewing for Alicia, actually. The poor girl only has a grandmother left, and she wasn't very helpful for the interviews."

* * *

 _(Some things are too dangerous to confirm.)_

* * *

 _6\. Anyone is fair game._

* * *

 **District Two. Interviews.**

* * *

The reporters stared at the house as another explosion rocked an upstairs window.

"Perhaps we should leave her alone," one of the reporters squeaked.

The others quickly agreed.

* * *

 _(Some risks aren't worth the story they tell.)_

* * *

Leesha had gone into the Games with two goals: win, and don't kill Seph.

Partially that was a self-preservation thing. He was her best ally in here, and Hastings would kill her if anything happened to his son.

Hah. Like that had ever been a secret.

Partially, well, she just liked him. He had been nice to her after Jason had died. He'd been nice even before then, actually.

Winning was the most important thing, obviously. But she wouldn't hurt Seph if she could help it.

* * *

 _7\. Nice brings no sponsors._

* * *

 **District One. Interviews.**

* * *

Mr. Woodhouse had been confined to his bed. Since unlike Leesha's grandmother, his health problems didn't involve large amounts of magic being thrown around, the reporter came in anyway.

"Emma's such a good girl," he insisted frailly. "She takes such good care of me. I do wish she would hurry up and come home. Sleeping outdoors like she is can't be at all good for her health." He shook his head. His eyes were distant. "She's a good girl," he repeated.

* * *

Emma ducked into the trees on the pretense of relieving herself. Instead, she gathered handfuls of the red berries she found in the bushes. She recognized these.

Mr. Knightley, she knew, wouldn't approve of what she was about to do. Her father certainly wouldn't.

But she had seen what she was up against. This was the only way.

She offered to make stew that night.

And she slipped the berries into the food.

* * *

 _(This matters less when the sponsors can see the truth for themselves.)_

* * *

 **A/N: For anyone not familiar with Leesha's grandmother, she is a very old, very powerful wizard. Dementia and immense magical power are rarely a good mix.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: IMPORTANT UPDATE NEWS. I'm going camping this week, which means no wifi till Thursday. Updates will have to wait till then, I'm afraid.**

* * *

 _When brute force won't work, use stealth._

* * *

There was a herd of deer here. Puck had checked. They would spook when the fire started.

He lit the fire and then, seemingly carelessly, went to go get some water from the stream.

The sparks hit the dry grass.

The fire caught.

* * *

Leesha looked around the clearing around the Cornucopia for the fifth time that minute. Her magic was buzzing anxiously under her skin. Moth could be anywhere by now, and as strong as Seph's wards undoubtedly were, that made her antsy.

"I'm going to take a walk around the perimeter." She pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her knives.

"But supper's almost done," Emma protested.

Leesha shrugged and tried not to let her tension bleed into her movements. It wouldn't do to let the sponsors think she was anything other than confident. "I can eat cool stew." She sniffed. The smell wasn't entirely appealing. "If it's even worth eating, that is."

Seph frowned at Leesha's retreating back. He shook his head and turned back to Emma with a smile. "Don't mind her. She's been sharp with everyone since Jason died. I'm sure the stew's great."

Emma's smile was a bit shaky. Leesha's comment must have gotten to her more than he'd thought. "Thank you. I think it's ready now." She spooned some into a thin metal bowl they'd found with the supplies.

He took it gratefully. The ninth day had been a slow one, but he was still more than ready to eat. "Where's yours?"

"I could only find one bowl. I'll keep looking for another one."

"Are you sure you don't want the first one, then?" Seph offered her his portion.

Emma shook her head. "I haven't really been hungry since - " She glanced to the still charred portion of grass.

Seph winced sympathetically. "I get it." He took a bit of the stew. It was surprisingly sweet. "This is pretty good!"

* * *

Hastings' eyes were all but aflame as he frantically flipped through the catalog of goods to send in. There had to be something in there that could help.

A vial of an antidote appeared at the end.

Even when compared to their vast store of sponsor donations, the cost was astronomically high. Too high for them to possibly reach.

Behind him, the others were on the phones with sponsors. Linda caught sight of the price on the screen. Her face went pale.

An extra sheen of magic entered her voice. She talked faster.

* * *

A sharp cramp hit Seph's stomach. He resisted the urge to curl up over it. He couldn't look weak in front of the audience.

Emma had finally found a second bowl. He grabbed it before she could fill it up. "I'd wait a bit on that. I think something in the stew's a bit off."

Impure water, maybe. They hadn't been having problems so far, but something easily could have gotten into it since the Games started.

Or Leesha - He didn't want to think it, but she'd always gotten excellent marks when it came to learning about poisons, and she'd walked away rather than eat the stew. She was taking her time in coming back too.

If she'd done something to it, then he needed to throw it up and fast. "Excuse me for a minute." He tried to push himself to his feet so that he could go somewhere a little less obvious to the cameras.

The pain sharpened. He curled over his stomach and bit his tongue against a cry. Something wet was dripping down towards his mouth. Something wet and hot.

There was no way he could make it to the trees like this. He turned to his side and tried to retch.

Something hit his side and pinned him to the ground.

 _Emma._

Her hand clapped over his mouth. What little he could see of her face with his head pinned was pale and tinged slightly green. He could hear her other hand scrabbling for a knife.

Another cramp tightened around his stomach. His muscles were trembling. He could never fight her off like this.

He forced his hands up and clenched them around her wrists. He let them grow hot. A current ran through them.

Wizard hands, Dr. Leicester had called them. He had used them liberally on misbehaving students.

Emma screamed and tried to roll away from him. He held on grimly. He needed to - He had to -

Over the rushing in his ears, he could hear someone running.

* * *

Leesha had been almost back when she heard the scream. She took off running as soon as she heard it. She didn't know what she planned to do about it yet, but if someone was attacking their supplies, she needed to know.

No one was attacking.

Or, rather, no one new. It was just Seph and Emma, scrabbling on the ground. Emma's wrists looked red and burned. Seph moved weakly, blood streaming down his face.

The stew quietly burned behind them.

Leesha rushed forward and shouted a spell that sent Emma flying backward. She knelt beside Seph.

He tried to say something. Blood bubbled out of his mouth.

A cannon boomed.

* * *

Linda's screen went dark.

"No," she whispered. "No. Not Seph."

Hastings stood, very quietly, and turned to look at the guards posted all around the mentor center. Jack grabbed his arm, alarmed, when he saw the fire in his old mentor's eyes.

"Hastings - "

One of the president's elicitors broke off from the guards and walked over, hands ready. "Is there a problem?"

Linda should say something, should go over there, should -

But for once the words wouldn't come.

Ellen shoved herself between Hastings and the elicitor. "No problem," she said tightly. "Hastings just needs some air, don't you, Hastings?"

A magical charge seemed to fill the whole room. She could hear the birds outside gathering. Preparing to strike.

"Just some air," Hastings agreed in a dangerously soft voice.

Jack shot his aunt a worried look as he and Ellen hurried Hastings out of the room.

She sat slowly back into her seat and turned to face the blank screen once more. All she could see was the tiny baby she had wrapped in blankets and left on a doorstep to keep him _safe._

Gone now. All gone.

Deep within her, the Dragon _roared._

* * *

Leesha got to her feet and stalked over to where Emma was pushing herself achingly to hers. Leesha spat a spell for paralysis before she could manage it.

The wards had fallen. They were in the open now.

But they were down to seven. There weren't many people left to come.

And the paralysis spell would last for hours. More than enough time for Leesha to set up wards of her own, even if she was slower than Seph.

First, though, she crouched beside Emma. She patted her cheek. The movement would have been gentle if her hands weren't blazing the way only a wizard's could be. "You foolish little girl. Did you really think you could get away with this?"

Emma let out a strangled sound like a choked back scream.

Leesha smiled brightly at her. The expression felt cracked and sharp. "Just wait right here while I get the wards up. You and I are going to have such fun together!"

Jason and Seph wouldn't have like it.

But they weren't here.

* * *

The fire spread quickly, helped along by Gamemakers who wanted to shove the remaining tributes together. Puck returned to find it entirely out of control.

He tried to hide his grin of triumph as he took off at a run.

The deer were running too.

Puck angled himself and shifted into a deer as well. He poured on the speed.

If the plan was to work, he was going to have to catch up with them.

* * *

It took Leesha an hour to get her wards up. She saw the smoke in the distance, but she let it be for now. Someone else could track down the idiot who had started the blaze.

An hour into her fun, she looked up to see that the smoke had formed an unnatural ring all around the boundaries of the arena. Time to make ready.

She drew a knife and finished what she'd started.

The cannon boomed.

* * *

 _(If stealth backfires, things can get messy.)_

* * *

 **A/N: A note on elicitors and dragons for those who haven't read the Heir Chronicles:**

 **Elicitors have the ability to draw out others' magic. An ordinary person hit with a fireball gets crispy; an elicitor absorbs the magic and can turn it back on the wizard who sent it. Most wizards are understandably terrified of them as nothing a wizard throws at them can affect them and as just being around one can be really bad for their health.**

 **The Weir (meaning wizards, enchanters, etc.) originally got their magic from a dragon. As a result, they've built a lot of symbolism around them. Due to the full story behind the dragon giving magic thing, the dragon has come to mean vengeance against oppressors. In the books, (major spoiler ahead), Linda took the title of Dragon to fight the tyrannical wizards. Here, she's done the same thing against the Capital.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Last update before I head out.**

* * *

 _1\. Do not accuse the Gamemakers of having it out for you, personally._

* * *

The mountain got steeper as she went down it. Kate wasn't sure how close she was to the edge, but there was swiftly coming a point where it wouldn't matter. There was only so steep an incline she could take.

The wall of fire that burst into existence a dozen yards down the slope neatly removed that approaching problem.

Even from here, Kate could feel the heat. She stared at it, stunned for a moment, before she began backing away.

The fire began to roar forwards.

Kate turned and ran.

Uphill. Worse, up a _mountain_ , with smoke already gathering in threatening clouds.

So much for following Tony's example.

 _The Gamemakers hate me,_ she wanted to grumble, but she couldn't spare the breath. Sweat already covered her body. Tony's iron bracelet was the only cool point left.

Kate coughed out the poisonous air and kept running.

* * *

 _(There are better ways to spend your breath.)_

* * *

 _2\. Stay in the present._

* * *

Will shuffled through the snow, still stiff from cold. He didn't have any definite plans for a destination. He just wanted to get somewhere warmer.

Warmer. Like back home in the summer when they had all snuck away to the woods and it was so hot that they would tackle each other into the creek.

It wasn't until he saw the rabbits shoot past him, lightning quick and not at all shy, that he realized something was wrong. He dragged his head out of his memories of summer and turned around.

Fire crackled in the distance, eating up the wintry world. It was getting closer.

Also like what happened at home, sometimes, in the summer months when it was too dry.

The fire would be warm.

Will jerked his face away from the distant, mesmerizing flames and ran after the rabbits.

* * *

 _(Think of whatever keeps you going.)_

* * *

 _3\. There are two ways out of the arena: death or victory._

* * *

Puck ran with the deer until they cut between a thick tangle of trees that the cameras couldn't see into. The fire was close behind.

Puck shifted, fast as he could, and sprang forwards.

As a wolf.

He brought down the deer beside him. The others raced on with new terror.

He twisted his head until it was right over his right foreleg, and then he bit down, hard. Bit down so deep that if he were anyone else, any _thing_ else, he'd be taking himself out of the Games more effectively than any competitor. Pain screamed through him, but he ignored it. There was more than blood and muscle filling his mouth.

He spit out his tracker onto the deer's ripped throat.

The moment it lost track of his pulse and heartbeat, the cannon booms.

It was hard to do the turn necessary for a shift, but he managed it. Shifting into a mostly human looking boy left him whole once more, but there was still too much blood soaking into the dry ground.

Shaking, weakened fingers grabbed a sharpened rock from the ground. He cut into the deer's shoulder as best he could and wedged the tracker into it.

The last shape the Capital knew he wore was a deer. A deer was dead. A hovercraft was probably already overhead, trying to figure out how to retrieve it.

The fire was closer. He felt its heat blistering his skin. A burning branch crashes down from overhead and landed on the deer. The fire caught quickly, further destroying the evidence.

Puck was too weak to stand, but he forced himself to turn one more time.

A small firebug from the Other World flitted into the deer's carcass and hid there.

When the metal claws at last bashed through the trees to retrieve the corpse, Puck was inside it.

Unnoticed and free.

* * *

 _(It's not cheating if the game never had any rules in the first place.)_

* * *

 _4\. The best way to deal with a trap is not, contrary to popular belief, to spring it._

* * *

Moth was not afraid of fire. Moth _loved_ fire.

But the other tributes would not be so enthusiastic, and she was eager to pick off whoever was left so that she could go back to the real purpose of these Games: killing her erstwhile fiancée.

She took to the air quickly. From here, it was evident to see what the Gamemakers were doing. The fire would drive them all together in the center around the Cornucopia.

Moth narrowed her eyes. Where there was still an annoying gray wall.

She wasn't far from it now, especially flying. She sped towards it, fire in her hands.

The first fireball flew.

The wall shook.

* * *

 _(There are, of course, other schools of thought.)_

* * *

 _5\. Be prepared for anything._

* * *

Leesha's wards couldn't last much longer and she knew it. She was strong, but she wasn't as strong as Seph.

Had been. Wasn't as strong as Seph _had been._

The thought was unhelpful, so she pushed it from her mind. So far, the attacks had always come from the same direction. She ran to the other side of the Cornucopia, where at least she'd have a little protection, and set her eyes on the woods.

When the wards fell, she would be ready.

* * *

 _(You may think you're ready, but you never, ever will be.)_

* * *

 _6\. The Games will try to steal who you are. Don't let them._

* * *

The purple fog that couldn't be real and the smoke that most certainly was blended together. Susan ran from both, bow at the ready. Something in her chest felt sharp and aching.

Smoke inhalation, perhaps.

 _Magic,_ something in her insisted. _Dark magic always eats you up inside._

She burst from the trees just in time to see something ahead of her - change. As if something fell, although she couldn't imagine what. A force field, perhaps?

A career charged towards her.

 _Threat!_ Susan's mind screamed.

 _Prey,_ the sharpness hissed.

Inhumanly fast, Susan raised her bow.

And fired.

The career's head was twisted back. Looking at something in the sky.

The arrow caught her in the throat.

The cannon boomed.

Susan's hands shook on the bow. Without quite meaning to, she turned her gaze up to see whatever the career - the girl - had seen.

There was a girl in the sky. A flying girl.

"Oh," she said faintly.

Magic.

The sharpness expanded.

* * *

 _(The Games change everyone.)_


	17. Chapter 17

_Stay alive._

* * *

Moth turned to look at what had killed her prey. She caught sight of the dark haired girl just as she ducked back into the trees.

Moth screamed her rage and tossed a ball of fire. The trees caught.

The ring of fire was very close now. Smoke was filling in the air.

Moth dived lower.

* * *

Susan threw herself back from the fire and darted back to the tree line. She raised her bow and fired at Moth.

Moth dived faster than she thought. The arrow only grazed her.

Moth's fingers began to turn into long claws. The fire crackled all around the forest.

The sharpness surged within her. Her blood pulsed with it. She could taste its iron in her mouth.

A cloud of purple smoke billowed out when she breathed. It was tinged with a spray of red.

* * *

Kate could hardly breathe. Her whole chest was seizing. She fell to her knees at the edge of the clearing and heaved for breath. The fire was too close behind her, pinking her skin.

She looked up to see the battle raging. The whole air was charged with far more than smoke. The cold iron burned into her skin like a talisman.

Kate gripped her knife, gritted her teeth, and crawled forward.

* * *

 _"You,"_ Moth hissed when she saw the Unseelie magic uncurling in greedy clouds. She flew back quickly. Her skin burned where it had touched.

So this was the troublemaker that had poisoned the arena. Moth bared her teeth, but she kept flying backwards. She needed a plan before she faced _that_.

She glanced around, looking for something to aid her. Her eyes caught on a bit of movement in the winter wedge.

A boy, on the edge of the trees. Wavering between the fire and the fight.

Coward.

She hurled a fireball, just to be rid of the distraction.

* * *

Will's eyes went wide. He threw himself backward automatically.

Right into the waiting flames.

The fireball hit him a moment later.

A few seconds later, the cannon boomed.

* * *

Moth despaired of a plan and went with what she knew. She threw more fire.

* * *

Susan dodged frantically as fire hit all around and started catching even their lone patch of grass on fire. The cloud before her evaporated where the searing flames touched.

More poured out of her. It felt like it was emptying her. Hollowing her out.

Deep, hacking coughs ripped through her chest.

She didn't have to wonder about the wetness that sprayed from her mouth.

She felt to her knees.

* * *

Moth drew her fire around her and dived through the cloud.

It slipped past her fire. It burned like acid where it touched her skin. She could feel it eating through wings until they felt frail as spiderwebs.

Moth started to fall out of the sky.

But she could see the girl clearly now.

She threw one last ball of fire.

* * *

Susan rolled to the side. The fire was still close. Too close. She screamed as her arm burned. Desperately, weakly, she tried to roll.

Had to smother the flames. Had to -

Her lungs felt choked.

* * *

Moth hit the ground. Something cracked. She rolled over. She had to get to her feet -

* * *

Kate had been crawling towards the Cornucopia, but she was close now. Too close to pass this chance up.

She sprang at Moth's prone form. Her knife stabbed down.

The faerie let out an inhuman scream. Her skin bubbled. Claws stabbed into Kate's legs. She could feel her burns reacting to the fresh heat.

She slammed down her wrist. The one covered in Tony's cold iron.

Again. And again. And again.

Into the faerie's throat.

There was another long scream. The claws ripped jagged gashes in her legs.

The faerie went still.

The cannon boomed.

* * *

There were no more Seelie in the arena. The spell Tumnus had passed on was done.

The purple fog vanished. The choking wrongness vanished from Susan's mind.

It left a good many hollow spaces with it.

* * *

Kate could walk. She had to walk. Her knife was gripped so tightly in her hand that she didn't think she could let go. She forced herself up and stumbled between fires until she saw Susan lying on the ground.

By the time she reached her, it wasn't a choice to collapse to her knees beside her. It just happened.

Susan's bow lay half under her. The arrows were spilled out uselessly.

Susan's skin had acquired a strange grey cast. Her whole body was crumpling inward like something vital was gone.

Susan's hand clenched around her wrist. Kate's knife hand jerked up.

The other girl's eyes were wide and frightened. Something dark was eating away at them.

"It didn't take me," she whispered. The words were slurred and strangled. "I'm still - me. Still here."

"Still me. Still here," Kate agreed through her ravaged throat. She dropped the knife and curled her hand around Susan's wrist in turn. She gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The wrist felt like paper stretched over air. Like it could crumple any second.

Like Susan's chest was doing. Like the way the dark was fading in and out of her eyes.

A long string of hacking coughs ripped out of Susan's chest. Kate's own smoke ravaged lungs began hacking in sympathy.

When she looked up, eyes streaming, she saw a girl's eyes. Untouched by magic.

There was a good deal of blood around the other girl's mouth.

The cannon boomed.

All the fires, save Moth's, instantly went out. All that was left were the blackened husks of the woods.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the winner of the seventy-third Hunger Games!"

Caitlin Todd, victor, turned her head to the side and threw up black bile.

* * *

 _(I hope that you can stay alive. If you can't, at least survive.)_

* * *

 ** _A/N: One more chapter to go!_**


	18. Chapter 18

**Three Days Later**

* * *

 _1\. Breathe. You've won._

* * *

Kate's legs were technically perfectly healed, but they were still stiff from three days of bed rest. Her walk was a bit awkward as she emerged from her room into the camera lined hallway.

That didn't stop her from breaking into a run without quite meaning to when she saw Tony and Gibbs.

Tony caught her when she crashed into him. "Miss me, Katydid?" he whispered into her hair.

"No." The word was somewhat undermined by the choked tone and the way her fingers curled tighter around her shirt.

"Of course you did, we're best friends."

She blinked and looked up at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He shifted so that his arm was around her shoulders and steered her towards Gibbs. Cameras always stayed away from Gibbs. "I just can't wait to catch you up on all the exciting things that happened while you were gone." His tone was light, but his eyes had the same dark look in them as when he'd been warning her about magic. Kate suddenly wished her iron bracelet hadn't disappeared somewhere in the healing process.

"Tony . . . "

He smiled at her again, but it was the fake, shiny smile he normally saved for the cameras. "It'll be fine."

His tight grip on her shoulders said otherwise, and Kate's stomach twisted with the warning.

* * *

 _(You haven't won. You never had a chance to win. All you can do is keep breathing.)_

* * *

 **Interview Night**

* * *

 _2\. These celebrations are for you. Enjoy them._

* * *

Caesar leaned forward. "So, Kate, I think everyone's been wondering about those final moments when it was down to two tributes. What was going through your mind?"

 _What you did for Susan, that's dangerous. You were kind, and not to an ally, but to someone who had killed an ally._

 _She was dying,_ Kate had protested. _It's not - I didn't mean to -_

And Tony had squeezed her shoulder and said, _You did the right thing. And the Capital will destroy you for it if you don't try to cover it up._

Kate smiled at Caesar and apologized for her long pause. "I was trying to think - Honestly, I just don't remember. I think I must have been in shock. It's just lucky I outlasted her, really."

"Well, we're all very glad you did."

The audience cheered.

Kate thought of whatever family Susan had back home and felt her smile grow fixed.

* * *

 _(This is where the Capital sees if they can control you. You don't want to know what happens if they decide they can't.)_

* * *

 **The Train Rides**

* * *

 _3\. Unwind. Enjoy a last taste of Capital luxury._

* * *

Mr. Tumnus made his way back to the - boxes. He settled between them, already sniffling.

Either of them might have had a chance if not for him. Susan, especially. It had been the curse that had killed her. The curse he had infected her with.

He laid a hand on her - box. "Next year," he promised. "I won't - I'm not a very brave faun, you know. But next year I shall tell her no." He meant it, too.

Outside, some wild creature the train was rushing past roared. Tumnus shuddered. It had been a rather intimidating roar.

But it made something in his chest feel warm somehow, too.

* * *

Anne had, after a perfectly dreadful day, once thrown herself onto a couch and informed Matthew and Marilla that she was in the depths of despair. Marilla had sniffed and told her that she had no business talking that way when she was so much better off than most. Matthew had waited until Marilla left the room and then shyly come to sit beside her and ask her what was wrong.

In hindsight, Anne saw, with a cold kind of clarity, Marilla had been right. She hadn't known what she was talking about.

The world rushed by in a blur out the window. Behind her, the escort was chattering meaninglessly about something. Anne couldn't be bothered to attend to her.

In her pocket, there was a small paper dragon. Another victor had pressed it into her palm, and she had let it fall into there.

A fanciful thing. Like her childish stories. Like the quiet rumors that Thirteen was still alive.

But then, she remembered bitterly, magic wasn't entirely fanciful. Some of it was all too real. Old scars tingled as she thought it.

And dragons. Dragons were a suitably vicious symbol. A symbol of Thirteen. A symbol of rebellion. A symbol of fire and teeth that could rip and tear the way she burned to.

"Once upon there was a kingdom that sacrificed children to appease a dragon," she whispered, the words no more than breath that condensed on the window. "Only one day, the dragon decided that the kind of king who would sacrifice children was far more deserving of being eaten."

"Are you alright, dear?" the escort asked. "It's time for lunch, are you hungry?"

Anne rose from the window. "Ravenous."

* * *

Morgan was not looking forward to her return to the district. Gawain was going to be -

She pressed her lips together.

Terence wasn't gone. Neither was Connoire, for that matter, and with the amount of magic that had been tinging the air, she suspected the Other World had gotten quite the influx of faerie blooded tributes. They were safe with the Seelie now, just like her niece.

Only it wasn't the same, something she feared that Terence had never quite grasped. There was always something undefinably different about the dead in the Other World and, of course, the dead could no longer travel home to this one.

She sighed. What was done was done.

She just hoped her favorite nephew would someday forgive her for not doing more.

* * *

They had replaced the plates that Ella had broken when she'd tripped in one of her many fits of clumsiness.

When Myrtle had dreamed of adventures in her youth, she had never thought about this part.

* * *

When the chefs served soup for supper, Robin hurled it at the wall. The tureen hit with a clatter and bounced off. The soup hit the wall and stuck, only slowly dripping down.

It had been tomato soup, so the wall dripped red.

"Perhaps something else," Marian suggested to the Avoxes. They hurried out, heads lowered, to provide it. Marian turned a reproachful look at Robin. "Was that really necessary?"

Tuck's look was slightly more sympathetic. "As much as I understand the urge, I doubt our initial hopes to send the boy some calming soup were noticed enough to make this a deliberate jab," he said mildly.

Robin nodded stiffly and rose from the table. "Excuse me. I am unfit company tonight." He stalked out of the room and through the train cars until at last he got to the balcony. The night wind sliced through him, and he took deep, comforting breaths in the cold.

A few minutes later, Marian joined him. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "You managed to dent the wall, if it's any consolation."

He snorted and brought his arm up around her shoulders. It was too loud out here for bugs. "I plan to do a lot more than that."

* * *

A name was not really much to go on. Nor was the way people kept walking through him.

With nothing better to do, Jack had followed the body that looked so much like him onto the train. Or, rather, he had seen it put onto a train, and now he was following it from the air. The wind carried him playfully along, and he hadn't wanted to be confined in the metal cars.

He could go anywhere like this. Fly away and be safe.

 _Safe from what?_

He didn't know. He needed to find out.

So he followed the train and hoped that it might provide some answers.

* * *

Gibbs stood in the doorway to the car and watched his kids. They'd curled up on the couch to make fun of whatever was playing on the television. Kate had fallen asleep an hour ago, and Tony was being carefully still so as not to wake her. They'd be alright.

Gibbs slipped back out and headed to the back of the train where his other kid waited for him. The one he had failed.

The box he was in was rough. Gibbs could build a better one when they got home, if the family would let him. Some years they didn't.

For now, he sat in the silence and listened to the ghosts.

* * *

Relda waited on the little balcony. Her old hands were gripped tight around the rail to keep them from shaking. She looked up when Canis joined her. "Well, old friend?"

He shook his head. "Deer scent," he said roughly. "Nothing else."

Relda let out a long breath.

 _Just a deer. Not Puck._

Which rather raised the question: Where was he?

* * *

It was always too quiet on the train ride home. Gru stared glumly at his sketches for new inventions. He just could not dig up any enthusiasm for them tonight.

Nefario laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It was always a long shot for either of them. At least we saved the boy who should have gone in."

"Yes," Gru agreed.

Neither of them mentioned the president's warning of what would happen if they ever tried that again.

"But I am not sure losing Bob is much better," Gru added.

Nefario patted his arm and left him to his brooding.

* * *

Hastings had never exactly been a laid back guy. Jack hadn't expected these Games to change that.

But whatever bit of humor and peace that Hastings had still had was gone. He burned now more than ever, and Linda, who had initially crumpled, caught renewed fire from the blaze.

Jack would fight with them when the time came.

But in the meantime, he was almost afraid to see what was in Hastings' eyes.

* * *

Knightley returned from the phone. "Mr. Woodhouse is dead," he announced to the room at large. "He had a collapse." He paused for a moment, some great emotion in his eyes. "Excuse me." He abruptly left the room.

Darcy considered going after him, remembered how inept he was at handling such conversations, and thought better of it.

Bingley would have gone.

* * *

 _(You are still being watched, and there is little to enjoy.)_

* * *

 **Two Days After the Return**

* * *

 _4\. Learn lessons from the Games. Don't get attached._

* * *

There was no one at the door.

A box jingled. Gru looked down.

Margot stood there with red rimmed eyes and a collection box. Agnes gripped her hand tightly. A bunch of badly wilted dandelions were being crushed in her other hand.

"We're collecting money for the funeral," Margot told him, shaky voice on just the wrong side of accusing. "The Capital pays for tributes' headstones, but we want to buy flowers."

Agnes brandished her bundle of weeds. "I wanted to get her juice," she confided. "But Margot said she wouldn't be thirsty."

Margot looked about ready to cry, "Agnes, we talked about this."

She was about the size of one of the minions, Gru realized. They didn't understand why Bob wasn't coming back either.

Gru cleared his throat. He needed them gone, now. He had - work. So much work. "Here. Money." He scrabbled in his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills that he shoved in the box.

Margot kept holding it out.

"Flowers are expensive," she reminded him.

Gru looked past the front door at the smog thickened sky and at his own soot stained walls. Even out here, the grime reached. Pretty things did not do well in grime, did they? The flowers would have to imported. The ones in his house's garden were, he thought.

His house. Tall and filled with delicate, expensive machinery. And the girls were still standing there, one accusing, one innocent, and both too thin to have resisted bright red berries on a bush.

"Flowers," he coughed out. "Yes, flowers. I will - go get more money. I will go with you. As many flowers as you want." Proper ones, not the shriveled things in his garden. "Whatever kind she would want."

Margot picked the most expensive kind that came in pink that she could find, and she put them on the counter like a challenge. Agnes started munching on the dandelions.

"No, no!" he told her, snatching them away. "Those are not for eating!"

Margot shrugged. "They won't hurt her. We've had them before. Edith usually - " Her jaw snapped shut.

The flowers cost less than the beakers he bought by the dozen because the minions kept breaking them. A proper meal wouldn't even cost that.

"Let me get you something," he said. "Since I took your dandelions."

* * *

 _(It's not safe to get attached, but then, nothing's ever really safe.)_

* * *

 ** _Four Days After The Return_**

* * *

 _5\. If you're supposed to be dead, don't make waves._

* * *

Jack wasn't sure what to make of this town. There was something disturbing about the black sand that went out every night. The bright lights that went out to fight it interested him, but after so long unseen, he was afraid to approach them.

He had to do something though. For lack of anything better to do, he flew up high enough to see the whole town and tried to figure out where the black sand was coming from.

It twisted so much it was hard to tell, but he thought - There.

"Alright, wind." He gripped his staff tighter. "Take me there."

He dived down through the night, laughing at the way the wind tugged at him. He came to a stop just outside the entrance to -

A hole in the ground. Great.

He peered inside at the branching tunnels.

"You can get me out again if I get lost, right?" he whispered to the wind. It tugged at his clothes reassuringly. He took a deep breath. "Alright, then."

He slipped into the darkness.

There was something wrong with the tunnels, he decided almost instantly. Something whispering, just on the edges of awareness. Something that made instinctive terror seize his mind.

They were also very, very cold.

Jack took comfort from that and kept going, ice playing at his fingertips.

"You came back."

Jack froze. The hoarse voice was almost too quiet to hear. And, he realized quickly, not directed at him.

He peered around the corner into the nearest tunnel. At the far end of it was some kind of cage. He couldn't see it very well, though. A tall, thin man in a black robe wrapped in shadows blocked the tiny enclosure.

"Afraid I'd leave you alone down here to starve?" The man's voice was coolly amused.

"No." The other voice caught.

"Liar."

Jack's hands clenched tighter around his staff. He didn't know what was going on here, but it wasn't good.

The man continued. "I actually came to give you news of your friend. The one who got reaped for the Games?"

"Jack?"

Jack's breath caught. Surely it wasn't - They weren't talking about him.

Were they?

"Hm." The man examined his fingernails. "He's dead."

Something thumped against the bars. "No. You're lying! He probably wasn't even reaped for the Games."

Jack thought back to the body that looked so much like himself and the way people walked throug him.

The man might be a liar, but he had a sick feeling that he might be right about this.

The man shook his head. "Tsk, tsk. Insulting your host. I suppose you don't want your supper after all, then."

"No!" The cry seemed involuntary.

Jack gritted his teeth and started sneaking forward. He wasn't going to let this go on any longer.

What can you do? something in him whispered. They can't even see you.

The man turned back. "Say it, then. Say that your brave friend Jack is dead. That he failed."

There was a brief, shuddering silence.

It was broken by a thin, defiant whisper.

"I believe in Jack."

Something shuddered through Jack.

The man shrugged. "I'll be back later then. Or not." The shadows climbed up him and he vanished.

Jack could see the person in the cage clearly now. It was a boy, maybe a little younger than Jack. He was slumped against the bars. Clothes worn to rags barely covered a body that looked like little more than bones.

Jack edged into the hallway.

The boy looked up. His eyes went wide. "Jack!"

Jack froze. "You can see me?"

The boy grabbed the bars. His hands were shaking. "Of course I can see you!" He frowned. "What happened to you?"

"I don't know," Jack admitted. He hurried over to the cage and started examining the lock. "Wind, do you think you could - ?"

The wind obligingly slipped into the lock and began undoing it. Jack grinned up at the boy. "We'll have you out of there in no time."

"You're really here," the boy breathed.

"In the flesh," he agreed. "I think." The door clicked open. "So we've established that I'm Jack. Who're you?"

The boy's face froze. "You don't remember?"

"I don't remember anything," Jack admitted, wincing. "I'm hoping to find someone that could help with that." The kid wasn't moving, so Jack reached in and lifted him out. Skinny as he was, the kid wasn't going to be much good at running, so Jack just kept carrying him as he hightailed it for the exit.

"Jamie," the kid finally said. "I'm Jamie." His face took on a determined cast. "And we'll get you those memories back."

 _(If you're supposed to be dead, take advantage of the opportunity._

* * *

 **A Month After**

* * *

 _6\. Say the right thing to your family._

* * *

Time passed differently in the Other World. Judging by the look on Sabrina's face, Puck had been gone too long.

She stomped toward the portal that he still stood in the doorway of. "A month!" she shouted. "You made us wait a month! We were afraid the Capital had grabbed you!" Her face was an angry, blotchy red, but there were tears welling in her eyes. She stopped just outside the portal and jabbed a finger in his face. "Give me one reason I shouldn't punch you."

He didn't say, _I saw the future once._ He didn't say, _It was in the Dark Days, when all that magic opened up a rip and I fell through._ He didn't say, _I saw your sister, all grown up. She wore a black coat with her pockets filled with enchantress's tricks that she'd made herself and an eyepatch that didn't hide the whole scar. I saw Terence, a little too distant like the dead always are, but I saw Gawain crack that, make him smile. I saw a whole army there, and they were a part of it._

 _I saw you, and you didn't wear my people's colors because you're far too independent for that, but you were there in Avalon, holding one of Trebuchet's swords, and you smiled. Smiled at me._

He said, with a careless smile, "Because you're happy to see me." Seeing that those words had perhaps not been advisable, he hurried on to say, "And because I brought you a gift." He stepped to the side to reveal the Healer's ward behind him.

On the beds behind him were Sabrina's parents, rescued from the Capital.

"That was an adventure to remember," he told her with a boastful smile before it faded to a worried one. "They're - not well yet, Grimm. They'll have to stay here until Ganscotter can figure out to help them."

Sabrina took another step forward, her eyes locked on her parents. "They're alive."

He nodded. "I can let you through if you want. I just can't guarantee how much time will have passed before we get back."

She wanted to. He could see how badly she wanted to. But - "I can't just disappear," she realized, shoulders slumping. She bit her lip. "Thank you, Puck."

He bowed. "Always, my lady." He grinned at her glare.

A glare that was rapidly becoming more uncertain. "You're outside the barrier right now."

"Good detecting skill, Grimm." As long as he stayed on this side of the portal, he wouldn't be caught in the Capital's enchantment over the district meant to catch the faerie's there.

She swallowed and nodded. "So you're staying there, then."

He stretched lazily and grinned. "Nah." He stepped through the portal. It closed behind him.

She gaped at him.

"Do you have any idea how much work they tried to shove on me as soon as I showed up?" Puck demanded with a put upon shudder. "That can wait for Their Majesties, thank you very much. Paperwork gives me hives, look." He shoved his arm at her.

She danced back, but he'd startled a laugh out of her. "Puck!"

He grinned at her. "Besides. You'd get bored without me, Grimm."

She rolled her eyes. "In your dreams." But she hesitated a moment before hugging him tightly. "I'm glad you're back."

"Good to see you too, Grimm."

* * *

 _(Even if you say the wrong thing, it's alright. You'll figure it out.)_

* * *

 ** _Historian's Note: The collection of rules that has been attached to this account of the Seventy-Third Hunger Games were found hidden in Victor's Village in District Five. The house they were found in was never officially occupied, but handwriting and textual analysis leads many historians to believe that they were pi=enned by Anthony DiNozzo Jr, winner of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games._**

* * *

 **A/N: I've already begun a brief prequel dealing with Tony and Games in the leadup and aftermath to Tony's Games that I plan to post soon. After that's finished, I want to write a sequel dealing with Jack and Jamie, and another sequel with some fluff for Gru's soon to be new family.**


	19. Bonus Chapter

**A/N: Whitemiko12 requested the Pevinsie family grieving. This is my shot at fulfilling the request.**

* * *

The pitifully small collection of coins still left from Peter's last payday were divided out on the table into the necessary stacks.

Food. Coal. In better times there was a third stack for saving up for more expensive things, like new boots and medicine, but these were not good times.

Three mouths. One worker. Two children collecting tesserae.

And, of course, that worker could only do so much good when the mines were closed. Again.

Peter understood the recent riots all too well, but they couldn't afford to lose any more coin from the Capital's punitive closings.

The coin he still had in his hand bit deep into his palm as his hands curled into frustrated fists. He slowly uncurled them. This was why Susan had always done the sums. Peter could do them just as well, but he always got frustrated. Susan just found new ways to pinch and save, to stretch out their coin and to convince people to sell to them at lower prices.

But Susan was gone now.

Peter dropped his head into his hands.

He jumped when a hand appeared on his shoulders. "Ed. Thought you were asleep by now."

Edmund shrugged. "It'll be alright," he said, looking at the table. "We'll work it out."

Peter shot a quick glance to make sure Lucy was still asleep in the nest of blankets they used as a bed and spoke with a little more honesty than he otherwise might have. "It'll be close."

Susan had hunted. Susan had been the bargainer. Susan had been almost eighteen, and they had made decisions on the assumption that she'd be a mine worker earning money soon.

Susan had stepped in where their mother had stepped off, and Peter couldn't do this alone. He just couldn't.

"We'll make it work," Edmund said stubbornly.

Peter forced a smile onto his face. "Of course we will. Now go back to bed. I don't want to hear that you've fallen asleep in class tomorrow."

"Small chance of that. Our history teacher promised to talk about the trial and its precedents." Edmund's yawn undercut his words.

The trial. Caspian's last legacy beyond the grave was justice on his uncle, just like he'd wanted. The Capital hadn't been able to ignore so public a plea.

It was the sole bit of good news they had these days, and Peter's smile was a shade more natural as he shoved Edmund toward Lucy. Edmund went, grumbling all the while.

Peter blew out the lamp after Edmund laid down. They couldn't afford to waste any more fuel.

He wanted to stay up, to figure this out, but there was nothing left to do but hope Edmund was right. To have faith, Lucy would say.

Lucy whimpered in her sleep, another nightmare catching up to her. Peter got up from the table in the dark and edged his way over to the little nest. He curled up on the other side of her than Edmund and laid his arm over both of them, so that he could have at least an illusion of keeping them safe.


	20. Bonus Chapter: Dru

**A/N: Title is from "My Name is Christmas Carol." If you're not familiar with the song, it really fits this fic. This chapter is part of my twelve part Christmas gift to my beta; specifically, it's part seven.**

* * *

"I am here to adopt two of the children." Gru held himself with awkward stiffness at the battered table that served as a front desk. Despite his research, he wasn't sure of the proper procedure for this.

"Mr, Gru," Miss Hattie cooed. "We're so glad you've come - You're here to what?"

"To adopt two of the children. A specific two," he clarified hastily. "Not just any two."

Miss Hattie's mouth had dropped open. "Well - Well, then." She laced her hands together. "I had no idea you were a family man."

He wasn't. Not at all. In fact, he should probably just bolt now and forget the whole idea -

"Mr. Gru!" The door behind him had opened and tiny Agnes had slipped in. She launched herself at him and wrapped all four limbs around his leg in a viselike grip. Margo came in more cautiously.

"Yes, hello, Agnes." He patted her head awkwardly.

"What are you doing here?" Margo demanded. Not quite hostile, but definitely wary.

Agnes beamed up at him. "Are you going to buy us cookies again?"

Miss Hattie coughed delicately. "Again?"

Gru shrugged weakly.

This was a terrible idea, clearly. It was too late to leave now, though. He wasn't sure he could pry Agnes off without a crowbar, and he refused to walk through town like this.

"Girls, Mr. Gru's considering adopting."

Margo's eyes went wide for a moment before her more practical side kicked in, and she crossed her arms. "Won't that get us reaped?"

Gru waved a hand. "What the Capital does not know will not hurt us. The Head Peacekeeper is an old friend," or, rather, used to being bribed, "and I am sure that much paperwork will be lost in the orphanage's upcoming renovations."

Miss Hattie blinked. " . . . Renovations?"

"Due to my upcoming donation," Gru prompted. "My very generous donation."

Miss Hattie smiled sweetly. "Well, I'm sure such a generous man will be an excellent father, won't he, girls?"

Margo's eyes flicked to the way Agnes's threadbare cat hung all too loosely around her ribs, and she bit back any further objections. Agnes snuggled his leg tighter.

"Daddy!"

Gru choked.


	21. Bonus Chapter: Jack

**A/N: Title from "White Christmas." Part eight of Christmas series.**

* * *

Jack knew he needed to get Jamie somewhere warmer that had food. He just didn't know where to go for that.

"My house probably isn't safe," Jamie said. "Pitch'll know to look for me there. I don't know about yours."

"I have a house?"

Jamie looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Your parents do. You live with them and your sister."

"I have a family." If Jack hadn't been carrying Jamie, he probably would have done some loops in midair. "Where are they? Would they have food?"

Jamie squinted down at the town below. "They live right about there." He pointed with a trembling hand. "Probably - probably not much food, though. Unless you won the Games?"

That, he knew the answer to. "I overheard some people say that some girl named Kate won. Do we know her?"

Jamie shook his head and shivered. Jack wasn't sure whether it was the night air or his own cold touch.

"Sorry." He scanned the town anxiously. "What about there? They're fighting the black sand. That's a good sign, right?" Those houses were some of the few spilling light, and the wind carried sounds of battle with it. He dove closer without waiting for a response. He could see brightly colored figures maintaining elaborate defenses against the nightmarish sand horses now.

"That's Victor's Village," Jamie said. "I've never seen it at night before." He sounded impressed. "They'd definitely have food. And . . . if you lost the Games . . . they kind of owe you, don't they?"

Jack wasn't sure how that worked, exactly, but he still didn't understand just what this game thing was. If Jamie thought it was worth a shot, he wasn't going to argue.

He shifted his hold on his staff - awkward, when he was also trying to carry Jamie - and dove down.

Some of the horses swerved up to meet them. Jamie's grip on Jack grew painfully tight, his face sickly pale in the moonlight.

They weren't getting him. Not again.

Jack let out a feral yell.

Ice splintered out from his staff. It raced though the inky darkness, shattering the enemies it met.

Silence fell. Jack swayed in midair.

"Take us down, Wind," he croaked.

The wind caressed him with small nudges that felt like concern before lowering them onto the war zone of a lawn where combat had abruptly ceased.

There was a giant rabbit, some kind of winged lady, and a big guy holding two swords. There were other people too - strange birdlike creatures, pointy headed short beings wearing bells, massive fur balls, and enormous stone eggs - but those three were at the center of things.

"Jack?" the lady breathed.

He smiled sheepishly. He'd kind of made an entrance, hadn't he? "Hi."

The big man stepped forward, eyes wide with wonder. "Jack! You are not dead! Who is your friend?"

"This is Jamie. He needs help." Jack was firm on that point, but he frowned at the rest. "Why would I be dead?" He remembered seeing that body that looked like his, but that couldn't be him. It couldn't.

"You don't . . . remember?" The lady seemed horrified.

"He doesn't remember anything," Jamie said.

Jack nodded. "All I know is what the Man in the Moon told me and what I've picked up since."

"Manny," the large man said in delight. "He is still there! And now we have new Guardian!" He frowned. "One who needs memories. Tooth?"

"I'll go get his teeth." She zipped away. A flock of the fluttery things followed her.

"Good!" The man clapped his hands. "Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am North. That was Tooth. This is Bunny. Now come! You are both far too skinny. We must get some meat on your bones while we wait." North patted his own extensive stomach before putting a large hand on his back and steering him towards the door. Jack might have dug his heels in and refused to go any further until he got some questions answered, but Jamie was still shivering, and he remembered all too well Pitch denying Jamie a long awaited meal.

"So what's a Guardian? And what do teeth have to do with anything?" He could still ask while they walked.

North waved his free hand dismissively. "Teeth store memories. All other questions can wait until you have yours back. You will have better understanding of the answers then, yes?"

Jack couldn't really argue with that, and besides, they'd entered the house now, and - Woah.

Greenery was everywhere. On the mantle, on the stair railing, and wrapped around the base of the furniture. Actual trees glittered in various corners, dripping with gleaming baubles. Toys in various stages of being built littered every available surface.

"Wow," Jamie breathed.

North shook his head. "This? This is nothing. You should see basement. Or Pole! Now there was a sight to see." He hurried them into an equally stunning kitchen where Jack was finally able to set Jamie down in a chair before being pushed into one himself. North was a whirlwind, shoving food at both of them that they both happily devoured.

Bunny spoke up for the first time. His voice was softer than Jack would have expected. "Better slow down there, mate," he said, nodding to Jamie. "You don't want to make yourself sick."

Jamie slowed but now without grumbling. "What about Jack?"

Bunny and North exchanged glances.

"Jack . . . plays by different rules now," North said slowly.

"Why?" Jamie asked.

""Cause we messed up," Bunny confessed at the same time that North said, "Is Guardian thing."

Jack's eyes flicked between them. "So which is it?"

"It's both, isn't it," Jamie said, putting the pieces together. "It's a Guardian thing, but Jack's only a Guardian because you couldn't protect him in the arena."

"And there only are arenas because we failed our duty a long, long time ago," Bunny growled.

"We tried," North countered. "And the time is coming for us to try again. Jack's coming is a sign."

Jack froze. "Um. What?"

North's fist smashed enthusiastically into the table. "We must help the rebellion!"

"I don't even know anything about the government we already have!"

"I've got the teeth!" Tooth burst into the room. "Just as lovely as I remembered." She held out a little cardboard box. Jack's name was written on the side.

 _Jackson Overland._

He accepted the box with a shaking hand and opened the lid carefully. The baby teeth inside didn't look like much.

"Just touch them, Jack," Tooth encouraged.

He dumped them into his hand.

* * *

 _Making a game out of scavenging in the trash with his little sister -_

* * *

 _Fighting the nightmares with Jamie and their friends -_

* * *

 _Falling into that icy pool and being denied a reaching hand -_

* * *

Jack leaned, gasping, against the table.

"Jack?"

"Hey, Jamie," he managed to say in response. "I finally found you." He'd done it. He'd actually done it, and now he needed to go see his family, and punch Pitch in the face, and -

"Yeah, okay, I'm with North," he said. "We _definitely_ need to rebel."

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **North is being a little careless with his open calls for rebellion, but I figure he's got precautions up.**

 **And with this I am done. I am finally, FINALLY done with this series.**

 **Write a few one shots, I said. You'll be done in a week, I said. Ha. Ha. Ha.**

 **But! Now it is done and Dobby is FREEEEE!**


End file.
